


That Midnight Sky

by zukkababey



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Canonical Child Abuse, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Aang/Katara, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Tutoring, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 103,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zukkababey/pseuds/zukkababey
Summary: In Zuko’s strict family, needing a tutor is just about the worst thing you could do. Failing a class, however, is even worse. The only rational solution? Take up Aang on his offer to find him a physics tutor and have Sokka—beautiful, smart, handsome Sokka—tutor him in secret.When Azula’s arrival threatens to reveal Zuko’s secret, it’s up to Sokka to convince her thisdefinitelyisn’t what it looks like. See, he’s actually… Zuko’s… boyfriend?Hmm. There’s no way this could get complicated, right?
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Sokka
Comments: 2382
Kudos: 2063
Collections: ATLA Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is! I’ve been working on this story since the end of June and now it’s finally time to post! It’s 16 chapters and will probably be just over 100k. For those of you reading as it comes out, chapter 5 will be up by Halloween for... ahem... reasons. After that, I will be posting a chapter every other day until it's complete. Strap yourselves in, friends. It’s a long one.
> 
> First off, I’d like to say thank you to everyone behind the scenes of the [ATLA Big Bang](https://atla-bigbang.tumblr.com/)! My betas for this fic, Vee [(@bisexual-lance)](https://bisexual-lance.tumblr.com/) and Rachel [(@tophbejfong)](https://tophbejfong.tumblr.com/) were a huge help, so thank you two so much! Plus another massive thank you to my artists, Kia [(@kiaraalazulu)](https://kiaraalazulu.tumblr.com/), and Tin [(@azu1as)](https://azu1as.tumblr.com/). Their art will be linked in the relevant chapters :)
> 
> Some important things to note before you get started:  
> 1\. I have altered Zuko’s scar to fit a modern setting. I did this because I would like to believe that if Ozai burned Zuko that badly in our world, child services would have intervened, no matter Ozai’s potential influence. Despite the change, Zuko’s backstory and childhood is largely similar to canon.  
> 2\. All characters have ethnically appropriate eye colours.  
> 3\. This story takes place in Canada, in the province of Quebec.  
> 4\. For the purposes of this story’s universe, we are all going to pretend that Tesla is not owned by Elon Musk and is instead owned by someone who actually cares about the environment. Thank you :)
> 
> I think that about covers it! Enjoy!

Zuko stares down at the paper in his hand. Other students shuffle past him, ducking out of the lecture hall once they have collected their test back from the professor. But Zuko is frozen to the spot, wide eyes fixed on the huge B- in bright red pen at the top of the page.

He gapes.

A B-? Not even a plain B, but B _minus._

He spins on his foot, hoping to at least ask the physics professor where he went wrong, but he’s gone. More students are filling up the once empty lecture room, and another professor steps up to the podium to start setting up for the next class.

Zuko grits his teeth.

Worst Monday ever.

He pushes past the students, shoving his way out of the lecture hall and out to the adjoining parking garage, fingering the car keys in his pocket. He’s going to _kill_ Aang.

* * *

The door bangs against the wall as Zuko storms into the apartment. He zeroes in on Aang immediately—he’s sitting in the middle of the coffee table with his legs crossed like a complete idiot.

“Aang!” Zuko yells, throwing his bookbag across the room. The sudden movement spooks Aang’s massive sheepdog Appa, who senses impending danger and skitters into Aang’s bedroom without a sound. Zuko only feels a little bit sorry—he’s too focused on shouting at Aang for being the worst friend and advice giver in what is probably the last entire _century_.

Aang hasn’t moved. Zuko figures that he must be too deep into his meditative state to notice the ruckus that Zuko has caused. He’s tempted to burn some incense and wave it under his nose, but Zuko’s not a _complete_ asshole. With a deep, calming breath, Zuko settles into the couch opposite Aang, staring at him with the power of a thousand suns. It’s surprising that the intensity of the glare does nothing to drag Aang back to the land of the living.

By the time Aang finally blinks his eyes open, the apartment has gone dark. Bright lights from the streets below shine through the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, just enough to glint in the whites of Aang’s eyes. In a sudden flash of movement, Aang’s arm darts out to the side, grabbing the vase that’s resting beside him on the coffee table. He swings it straight towards Zuko’s head. 

Zuko catches Aang’s arm before the vase can smash into the side of his face. “Calm down, Aang. It’s just me.”

Aang takes a second to process this information, mouth agape and chest heaving. “Zuko!” he yells, setting the vase back down. “What the hell are you doing?”

Zuko huffs. “Waiting for you to wake up.”

Aang groans. “We’ve _talked_ about this, man. Don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry,” Zuko says, not feeling sorry at all. The few hours he spent glaring at Aang did surprisingly little to quell his anger.

Aang sends Zuko a dirty look. “No, you aren’t.” He swiftly gets to his feet, still standing on their goddamn coffee table, then leans over to flick on the floor lamp. “When did you get home?”

“Like, three hours ago.”

“And you’ve just been staring at me the whole time?” Aang asks.

“Pretty much.”

“ _Dude._ I know you love me and all, but I have a girlfriend.”

“Aang,” Zuko says flatly.

Aang gives him a shit-eating grin, dropping back into his meditative position on the coffee table. “Please step into my office, Sifu Hotman. What can I do to help you this fine evening?”

“You’re _such_ a piece of shit. And don’t call me that.”

“You gonna tell me what’s up, or what?”

Zuko sighs explosively, pushing his hair out of his face. He stalks over to where he’d thrown his bookbag, tearing out the paper he’s looking for. He turns back into the living room; once he’s close enough to Aang, he shoves the test into his face. “Look. This is _your_ fault.”

Aang takes the paper, tilting his head as he reads it. “Oh! You got your physics midterm back!”

Zuko says nothing. He continues to glare. Aang sees this and furrows his brow, looking back down at the test with fresh eyes. Zuko notices exactly when Aang sees the grade—his lips part in surprise, eyes widening. He swears Aang’s breath hitches.

“Oh, shit,” Aang says.

“Oh, shit, indeed,” Zuko replies.

* * *

“How was I supposed to know that you weren’t very good at physics?” Aang is saying, ducking behind any piece of furniture he can find while Zuko hunts him down. It’s been going on twenty minutes now—back and forth and back and forth.

“It’s math!” Zuko yells.

“Math is great!”

“You _know_ I suck at math!”

“No, I don’t! How am I supposed to know that?”

“We’ve been going to the same schools for almost our whole _lives,_ Aang.”

Aang freezes where he’s trapped himself behind the kitchen island, hands firm on the granite countertops. He winces. “True.”

“Aargh!” Zuko yells, then feigns right, causing Aang to duck to the left. Zuko dives after him, but Aang manages to evade him, and Zuko goes skidding and sliding across the hardwood floor. When he rights himself, Aang has put the large dining table between him and Zuko, looking like he’s ready to bolt again.

“Zuko, stop,” Aang pleads, eyes big and round. “If we break the dining table again, Roku is going to disown me. Don’t make this a repeat of the Golden Egg Incident.”

Zuko straightens up, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes at the mention of the incident. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. “Fine.”

Aang slumps over the table with a large exhale, but then stands back up quickly. “Okay, look. I’m really sorry I suggested taking physics as an elective. I thought that you’d be good at it.”

Zuko’s lips twist into a snarl, and Aang holds up his hands like he’s warding off another attack.

“But I think I know someone who can help.”

* * *

They’re sitting across from each other at the dining table, the offending physics midterm laying between them.

“Who?” Zuko asks, eyes narrowed.

“My girlfriend’s brother,” Aang responds. “He’s a physics major. I bet he’d–”

“Wait,” Zuko says, holding up a hand. “I thought you were kidding about the girlfriend thing. When the hell did you get a girlfriend? We’ve only been in Canada for a _month_.”

Aang’s expression goes disgustingly soft and dreamy, and Zuko has to suppress the urge to throw up. “Her name’s Katara. We met at the university! In a History of Icebergs class.”

“History of _Icebergs?_ ” Zuko asks, dubious. “What kind of class is that?”

“It’s all about the changing water levels throughout the years. It basically proves global warming is real. Katara is majoring in Environmental Studies with a focus on Water Environments and Ecosystems. We’re a match made in heaven! Y’know,” Aang says thoughtfully, “with her water background and my major in Atmospheric Environment and Air Quality, I bet we could save the world.”

Zuko stares.

“But I’m getting ahead of myself,” Aang says hastily. “We were talking about Katara’s brother. I think he’d be a really good tutor for you.”

“ _Tutor?_ ” Zuko bites out. “Aang, you _know_ I can’t get a tutor.”

“Why not?” Aang asks.

“Do I really have to explain it to you?”

Zuko knows that he doesn’t—Aang bites his lip, eyes sad as they look down at the table’s surface. Aang knows exactly why getting a tutor would be a bad idea.

Zuko’s father has always put pressure on him to get high grades. But using a tutor to achieve those high grades is _extremely_ frowned upon in his family. Asking for help is seen as weak and dishonourable. And the last time Zuko was seen as weak and dishonourable, he got a scar along the line of his left cheek to remember it by. A permanent reminder of his father’s disappointment.

The last thing he wants to do is be seen as weak in the eyes of his father. But the thought of Ozai seeing his transcript at the end of the year with something less than an A fills him with a sense of heavy dread.

So what does he do? Aang’s right. He needs help.

Aang scratches the back of his bald head. “Your dad makes no sense. If he’s so concerned with you having perfect grades, you’d think he’d be okay with you doing whatever you needed to get there, tutor and all.”

“You’re telling me.”

Aang sighs. “Well. Do you think you can bring up your grade to an A without help?”

Zuko scoffs. “No! I thought I was doing great in the class! I don’t even know where I went wrong.” He drops his head into his hands. “I don’t even know if it’s possible to get to an A now. I’m screwed.”

“It’s okay, um. I can fix this. Let me fix this.”

Zuko slumps, his head dipping closer and closer to the tabletop. “It’s not possible. Just make sure that there’s fire lilies at my funeral.”

Aang reaches over and pats Zuko on the head. “Will do, buddy.”

* * *

The phone is ringing.

Sokka is in the shower and simultaneously shampooing his hair and brushing his teeth, but the phone is ringing. And it’s Toph’s ringtone.

Sokka spits into the drain, dunking his head under the spray to rinse the suds out of his hair before shutting off the water, then practically _vaults_ out of the tub. The bathmat slips under his feet but he catches himself on the edge of the sink, grabbing a towel on his way out the door. Stumbling into his bedroom, he palms his phone and swipes a thumb over the screen, accepting the call just before it goes to voicemail.

“Toph!” Sokka says enthusiastically into the receiver.

There’s a pause, and a crackle, and then Toph’s voice finally comes through, crisp and clear. “Hey, Snoozles.”

Sokka huffs a laugh. “I fall asleep on _one call_ and this is what I have to endure?”

“What can I say? Your snores were kinda cute. It left an impression.”

Sokka smiles, nickname be damned. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

Because it’s been a _while_. Toph has never been that big on phones, considering her lack of eyesight, and she _barely_ calls. It never bothered Sokka when they were roommates, other than the fact that he would go to text her to pick up milk on the way home, then call instead, only for it to go straight to voicemail because Toph never _charged_ the damn thing. But Toph’s been gone since May—she’d left to go study abroad for a year in Italy, some geology-based excavation program that Toph had been wanting to go on for _years._ Being blind, her protective—or as Toph would say _overprotective_ —parents hadn’t wanted her to go alone, but Toph had finally just up and left without telling them.

Sokka is so unbelievably proud of her. But god, he _misses_ her. More than he thought he would. She’s been gone for just over five months, and she’s only called three times.

“Aww, did you miss me?” Toph says, and it snaps Sokka back to the moment. “Of course you did. I’m a gem.”

“You are a gem,” Sokka agrees easily.

Toph hums. “How’s Montreal?”

“It’s Montreal,” Sokka replies, picking at the knot of his towel.

“Katara settling in okay?”

That brightens Sokka up a bit. “Yeah!” he enthuses. “She moved in at the end of August. Majoring in water sciences, or something. She already has a _boyfriend._ ”

“Damn,” Toph says, sounding impressed. “You better step up your game, Sokka. Only took her a _month._ ”

Sokka pouts. He wants to tell Toph about Yue, the short fling he had before he went back to Iqaluit over the summer, but he also doesn’t want to get teased for the rest of the phone call, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“I get around,” Sokka says instead.

“The box under your bed doesn’t count as _getting around,_ Sokka.”

Sokka flails into a sitting position from where he’s been lying on his bed. “How do you even _know_ about that?” he practically yells. “You’re _blind._ ”

He can _hear_ the smirk in her voice when she speaks next. “I have my ways.”

“You’re the _worst_ roommate I’ve ever had,” Sokka tells her.

“Good thing I’m not your roommate anymore. I’m living it up in France.”

“Wait, France?” Sokka asks, momentarily thrown. “I thought you were in Rome.”

“I was,” Toph says. “Now I’m in France. What, I can’t have a weekend off?”

“It’s _Wednesday,_ Toph,” Sokka tells her with a snicker. “How’s the Eiffel Tower, then? Is it as beautiful as everyone says it is?”

“Sure is,” she says wryly, and Sokka snorts.

There’s the sound of the door to his and Katara’s apartment opening and closing, and then Katara’s voice rings out. “I’m home!”

Sokka pulls the phone away from his cheek to shout into the hallway, “There’s dinner in the fridge for you!”

“Thanks!”

“Katara’s home?” Toph asks.

“Yeah,” Sokka says.

“Is there dinner for me too?” another voice calls, and Sokka rolls his eyes.

“With the boyfriend?” Toph asks again.

“Yup. I better go.” Sokka silently curses the entrance of Aang—he wanted more time to talk to Toph. Who knows the next time they’ll be able to chat?

“At least you didn’t fall asleep on me this time, Snoozles.”

Sokka stares up at the dingy ceiling. “That’s not going away anytime soon, is it?”

Toph cackles. “Definitely not. Love you,” she says, and then she’s gone.

* * *

“Hey, Aang,” Sokka says, hopping onto the countertop. Momo, Sokka’s rescued Siamese cat, immediately jumps down from his perch on top of the fridge and lands precariously on Sokka’s shoulder. Sokka reaches up to scratch the cat between his giant ears, and Momo purrs into the side of his neck.

“Sokka!” Aang says, cheerful as always. “Just the guy I was looking for!”

That gets Sokka’s attention. He stops scratching Momo’s head—much to Momo’s dissatisfaction—and looks over at Aang with furrowed brows. “Why were you looking for _me?_ ”

“I have a predicament,” Aang admits.

Sokka looks over to Katara, but she just shrugs, too busy eating the leftover dinner that Sokka made for her.

“How can I help?” Sokka asks.

Aang grins. “I was hoping you’d ask that.”

* * *

“No,” Sokka says immediately.

Aang’s face falls. “What? Why?”

“I’m not a good teacher,” Sokka says.

Katara almost chokes on her plate of food. “ _Sokka._ You’re literally studying to be a physics teacher.”

“Oh,” Sokka says. “Right. Ha. Guess I should have come up with a better excuse.”

“Sokka, _please,_ ” Aang continues _._ He’s kneeling on the floor beneath Sokka, all but begging. “It’s my fault he took the course to begin with, and he _really_ needs your help. If he fails this class, something really bad could happen.”

“Something bad?” Sokka wonders what it could be. “Is he gonna lose a scholarship or something?”

Aang’s eyes dart to the side, then up at Sokka. “Uh, yeah! Something like that. Please help him.”

Sokka hesitates. He did his tutoring time back when he was a first and second year—he thought he was done teaching dumb kids who thought they wanted to be engineers how to calculate basic physics equations. But Aang is still looking up at him with those big eyes, and even Katara is getting in on it, and his resolve is slowly crumbling–

“He’ll pay you a hundred bucks per session,” Aang says.

Well. Sokka raises an eyebrow. That helps. “I’m in.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sokka has wildly miscalculated. When Aang said he had a friend that needed help with an intro physics course, he imagined some scrawny kid with glasses that had a perpetual case of the sniffles. He did not think that the person needing a grade boost would be… _this guy._

Aang had given him his friend’s number, and Sokka had texted the guy a meeting place—the vending machines outside his favourite library. Sokka had strolled into the atrium—none the wiser as to what he was about to learn—and almost had a heart attack. Because there was definitely a guy waiting at the vending machines, and the guy was absolutely drop dead _gorgeous_.

He’s leaning up against the side of the snack machine, hip cocked and arms crossed. His hair is black and long, and some shorter strands curl around his face, brushing the sharp juts of his cheekbones. _And what great cheekbones they are_ , Sokka thinks. He’s broad too—not as built as Sokka, but Sokka would bet there’s some lean muscles hidden away underneath that black hoodie.

Sokka bites his lip. No way this is the guy who needs a physics tutor. _No way._

Sokka does the only thing he can do in a stressful moment like this: he ducks behind a stone pillar, hoping Hot Guy hasn’t seen him. He waits a minute or two for Hot Guy to get his snack and go, but when Sokka peeks around the edge of his hiding spot, the guy hasn’t moved.

 _Fuck,_ Sokka thinks, and lets his head bang against the rough stone. But then he has a thought. There’s one way to know for sure.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, composing a short text to the person he’s supposed to be meeting.

 _almost there,_ he sends.

He sneakily watches the guy at the vending machines to see if he gets a text. _Don’t reach for your phone,_ Sokka thinks. _Please don’t reach for your phone._

Hot Guy reaches for his phone, and Sokka’s heart drops. The guy reads what is most definitely Sokka’s text message, taps the screen a few times, and then Sokka’s phone buzzes in his hand. Sokka looks down at the screen forlornly.

_Sounds good._

Ugh. The guy texts with auto-capitalization—he’s probably straight.

Sokka takes a deep breath. It’s okay. He can do this. It’s just a tutoring gig—a really high paying tutoring gig, too. Those hundred dollar bills could go towards a really great thrifting haul, or he could finally renew his membership at his favourite rock climbing gym. It doesn’t matter that the person he’s going to be tutoring is insanely gorgeous. That’s _fine._ It’s going to be _fine._

Sokka wanders out from behind the pillar, trying to look like he hasn’t just been hiding there for the better part of five minutes. He keeps his eyes glued to his phone, tapping out random letters to make it look like he’s super busy, slowly making his way to the vending machines. Once he’s close enough, he locks his phone and puts it away, grinning easily over at Hot Guy.

“Hey,” Sokka says. “You must be Aang’s friend.”

Even though Hot Guy must have been waiting for him, he looks startled to be addressed so suddenly. After a moment of silence, Hot Guy replies, “Yeah, I guess that’s me. You must be his girlfriend’s brother.”

Sokka needs a _moment._ Because Hot Guy’s voice is low and raspy and straight out of every wet dream Sokka’s ever had and he just _needs a moment._

“Yup, I’m the boyfriend,” Sokka says and _oh my god did he really just say that?_ “I mean—the brother. To Katara. Aang’s girlfriend. Definitely not the boyfriend.” Holy shit. Sokka is a fucking _idiot._ He wants to _die._

Hot Guy smirks, just barely. “And you’re supposed to be a genius physics major?”

“Emphasis on _physics,_ ” Sokka responds. “Don’t make fun of the guy who’s first language isn’t English.”

Hot Guy lifts his hands in surrender, and that smirk is definitely almost a smile now, and Sokka might melt into the floor. “Hey, man, me neither. I grew up in Japan.”

“That’s cool,” Sokka says. “I’m Sokka.”

“Zuko,” Hot Guy says, and _fuck,_ even his _name_ is hot.

“Alright,” Sokka says dumbly. “Uh. Wanna get started?” He gestures towards the entrance of the library.

“No,” Zuko says immediately.

Sokka stops in his tracks, halfway turned towards the door. He hesitates. “… No?”

“Sorry, just–” Zuko suddenly looks shifty, eyes darting across the atrium like he’s waiting for someone to jump out at him. Obviously, no one does—the only other people in here are two bored looking students at a table espousing the benefits of joining their campus group, and an older guy eating his lunch in the corner. “Just… not here.”

“Um, okay,” Sokka says. “Did you want to go to another library? I know not everyone likes this one–”

“We can’t do it at a library,” Zuko tells him matter-of-factly.

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Okay? Where did you want me to tut–”

“Don’t say that!” Zuko is suddenly all up in Sokka’s space, hand pressed to his mouth. Sokka shuts up immediately—perhaps because of the palm pressing against his lips, or maybe because Zuko’s eyes are just as gorgeous as the rest of him—dark brown and fierce like fire. Sokka notices the jagged scar on the side of his face, tracing his left cheekbone, and tries not to stare.

Sokka raises his hands, leaning back and away from Zuko’s hand. “Okay, dude, chill. We can find somewhere else on campus.”

“It can’t be anywhere public. What about my apartment?” Zuko says.

“Uh,” Sokka scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know about that. I don’t usually like to–”

“Aang said I’d pay a hundred per session, right? I’ll double it.”

Sokka feels his brow furrow, letting his hand drop. Why is this guy being so shady? But hey—money is money. And Sokka could do with a bit more cash flow, he’s not going to lie.

He feels his resolve crumbling. “Is it far from here?”

“Five minute drive,” Zuko says, and pulls out a sleek black key fob, proudly boasting ownership of a—a _Tesla?_ Sokka didn’t even know people could buy Teslas in Canada. Holy shit. He’s going to get to ride in a Tesla?

“Okay, then,” Sokka says, trying not to sound too giddy. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Zuko is _freaking out._ Aang didn’t say that his girlfriend’s brother was _attractive._ He thought that the guy slowly getting closer to him was some lost student who needed directions—he wasn’t expecting the guy to _smile_ and then say _hey, you must be Aang’s friend._

Zuko had slowly felt his brain start to shut down. This guy was supposed to be his physics tutor? How was he supposed to be learning anything when the guy had _piercings_ in his ears and a _braid_ in his hair and gorgeous brown eyes—wait. Was that a _nose ring?_ Oh, Zuko was screwed. So very, very screwed.

And then Zuko had to almost mess everything up by _insulting his intelligence_ and practically _assaulting_ the guy to stop him from admitting he was a tutor—but he couldn’t take any chances. His dad was unpredictable at the best of times; Zuko wouldn’t put it past him to send people to spy on him and catch him in a lie.

But, against all odds, Sokka agrees to tutor him at his apartment instead of in a public place, and Zuko thinks he’ll probably need to tell the guy _why_ at some point, but that’s an issue for another time.

He thought the car ride might be awkward, but Sokka has a million questions about his car, raving about the auto-raising suspension to the multi-angle cameras to the advanced parking sensors. Zuko shows him how to work the web browser and Sokka just about dies.

“There’s a _sketchpad?_ ” Sokka asks, voice high and screechy.

Zuko cuts a side glance over to the boy in his passenger seat, trying not to smile at the way his tongue sticks out of his mouth as he furiously scribbles. How can he be hot _and_ adorable all at the same time?

By the time Zuko is driving the car into the parking garage under his apartment building, Sokka is saving his drawing and sitting back in his seat, looking pleased with himself.

“Thanks for letting me freak out over your car,” Sokka says with a smirk as he unbuckles his seat belt.

Zuko can’t hold in the huff of laughter that escapes him as he opens the car door. “Sure, man. I don’t care. Aang forced me to get this—apparently it’s good for the environment or something.”

Sokka gapes at him over the roof of the vehicle.

“What?” Zuko asks defensively.

“You… didn’t even _want_ this car?”

Zuko looks down at the black car dubiously. “I mean… it’s a car?”

“Philistine,” Sokka says immediately.

“Vulgarian,” Zuko retorts.

Sokka grins, and Zuko hates the way it makes his chest feel, like it’s too tight and too big all at the same time. “Look at us. Pretty good for some ESL kids.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Just come on.”

* * *

Zuko’s apartment is… stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows line one entire wall, and the kitchen is quite possibly larger than Sokka’s entire apartment. Everything is sleek and clean and modern, so when a massive, hairy dog bursts around the corner of the hallway and comes bounding across the room, Sokka is confused.

That doesn’t stop him from dropping to his knees and giving the dog much deserved kisses and belly rubs, though.

“Appa!” Zuko says as the dog drags his wet tongue up the side of Sokka’s face. “Get down!”

“It’s alright,” Sokka says. He rubs a hand into Appa’s shaggy fur. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”

“He’s a menace,” Zuko says. Appa’s big head swings around to look at Zuko with big soulful eyes like he’s taken offence to Zuko’s words.

“He didn’t mean that,” Sokka tells the dog. “I’m sure he loves you a lot.”

“Come on, Appa. We have work to do.”

Appa whines, but does dutifully trot over to Zuko, rubbing his big fluffy body against Zuko’s black jeans and getting white fur all over him. Sokka can’t help the way he snickers.

“I _told you_ he was a menace,” Zuko says.

“Yeah, yeah, you told me,” Sokka laughs.

Zuko shakes his head at the dog. “I _know_ that Aang took you on a walk before his afternoon class, Appa. Those eyes aren’t going to work on me. Nice try, though.”

The dog huffs, then ambles across the shiny hardwood, disappearing down the hallway.

Sokka finally stands up, looking ruefully down at his clothes, now completely covered in white dog fur.

“Oh god,” Zuko says. “I’m sorry.”

“No big deal,” Sokka replies. “I have a cat at home. Happens all the time.”

“I’ll, uh, find a lint roller or something.”

“It’s okay, it’s just a hoodie.” Sokka reaches up and pulls the sweater off, folding it and setting it off to the side. “Should we get started?”

For some reason, Zuko looks slightly dazed.

“You okay?” Sokka asks, tugging on the edge of his white shirt.

Zuko blinks a couple times, finally focusing on Sokka’s eyes. “I’m great. Perfect. Uh, yeah. Let’s get started.”

* * *

So, Zuko kind of sucks at physics. Sokka really should have been expecting this, considering Aang _said_ the guy needed tutoring help, but Zuko just didn’t seem like the type of guy to be bad at anything. The thought is slightly sobering. Sure, someone could drive a fancy car and look extremely hot while doing so, but it didn’t make them good at math.

Sokka starts to draw another diagram, trying to explain how the problem works for the third time, when Zuko snatches the page right out of his hand and throws it away. Sokka watches as it slowly drifts in the air, coming to rest on the floor gracefully.

“No more diagrams!” Zuko snaps. “They don’t make any _sense._ ” He puts his head in his hands. “This is useless. There’s no way I’ll be able to get an A on the next midterm.”

Sokka resists the urge to put a hand on Zuko’s arm. He reminds himself he’s barely known the guy for a few hours—but hey, they’ve bonded over learning English as a second language, and Zuko’s fancy technological car, and having pets that get fur _everywhere._ Yeah, they might not be best friends, but they’re getting there.

“Don’t say that,” Sokka says. “This is only the first session. Did you really expect to be a physics expert in a couple of hours?”

Zuko, honest to god, starts to _pout._ “Maybe.”

“Are you actually pouting, right now?”

Zuko pouts harder. “No.”

Sokka tries not to laugh. “I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t think becoming an expert works that way.”

Zuko turns away, huffing. He jabs a finger down at a stack of papers that have Sokka’s handwriting crammed into the margins. “Physics makes _no sense._ And dude, I _need_ an A in this course.”

“Have you thought about dropping out of the class? I think it’s still early enough to get half your money back.”

“ _No._ I can’t drop it. I need to finish the course.”

“With an A.”

“Correct.”

Sokka sighs. He does the math in his head—Zuko’s going to need to get straight As for the rest of the semester if he’s going to pass this course with a 4.0 GPA. Is that going to be possible? Sokka doesn’t know, but fuck if he’s not going to try. Zuko’s paying him two hundred dollars just for being here, and Sokka plans to earn his keep.

“Who’s your professor?” Sokka asks.

“Uh. I think his name is Pakku?”

Sokka groans. “I was worried you’d say that. That guy _sucks._ I had him once in first year and vowed never to take another one of his classes if I could help it. Left him a zero star review on Rate My Prof.”

“He does really suck,” Zuko agrees.

“If you ever take another physics class, you need to take it with Professor Jeong Jeong. He’s weird, but he’s a _genius_.”

“I am _never_ taking another physics class, are you crazy?”

“Hey, who knows, after a few rounds with me, you could love momentum conservation and energy efficiency!”

Zuko looks at him flatly. “I don’t think so. Just help me pass the course.”

Sokka’s face falls slightly, trying not to take Zuko’s dislike of the best science ever to heart. “Alright, fine. Back to it.”

* * *

At the end of the session, Zuko pulls out his wallet and hands over two hundred dollar bills like that’s a normal amount of money to have in a wallet at any given time—Sokka was expecting an e-transfer or maybe even a quick Venmo, but he’s not going to complain.

He tucks the bills into his back pocket, throwing his now covered-in-fur hoodie over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Zuko nods. “No problem.”

“See you Monday?” Sokka asks. 

They’ve planned on meeting up three times a week after Zuko’s physics class to work on the assigned homework. It’ll be easier that way to make sure that Zuko understands the problems and that he doesn’t fall behind. Sokka wonders if Zuko has fully realized that he’s paying him six hundred dollars per week for only three sessions, or if he really just doesn’t need to worry about money. Sokka’s not an idiot—Zuko must have some rich parents and a healthy trust fund if he’s able to live so comfortably.

“Monday,” Zuko confirms. “You need a ride home?”

Sokka might cry if he gets to sit in Zuko’s car again, and that would be really embarrassing—he already acted like a kid in a candy store earlier. He needs to tone it down.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll just take the bus.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zuko says. He shoulders his way past Sokka and opens up the front door. “I’ll drive you home.”

* * *

With Sokka actively restraining himself from fanboying over technologically advanced cars, the conversation is slightly more stilted this time around. The drive is only around twenty minutes, and Zuko scoffs when Sokka tells him that taking the bus would have been just fine.

“It would have taken you an _hour_ by bus to get home,” Zuko says. “And I don’t mind. Really. It’s the least I can do.”

Sokka tries not to gape over at the other boy. “The least you can do? You’re already paying me two hundred dollars a session. That’s _definitely_ not the least you can do.”

Zuko just shrugs, and that confirms Sokka’s theory that Zuko’s family is filthy fucking rich. The Tesla really should have clued him in faster.

Sokka changes the subject. “So, you live with Aang?”

He doesn’t think he imagines it when Zuko relaxes slightly into the driver’s seat, his arms losing some tension as he grips the steering wheel. “Yeah. We kinda… grew up together. We’re more like brothers.”

“Wow. Your families must be close.”

“Our fathers are business partners, of sorts,” Zuko says. “Their work requires tons of travel, so we go with them. Just moved into that apartment at the beginning of September.”

“Oh!” Sokka says. “So you’re new to Montreal, then.”

“Not really,” Zuko says. “We lived here for a few years when Aang and I were… what, sixteen? We were in Thailand for a bit, then Beijing, then London for university. It’s kind of nice to be back somewhere familiar.”

“I bet.”

Sokka watches Zuko’s hands on the steering wheel as he takes a left turn, the gold and silver rings on his lithe fingers glinting under the streetlights. He realizes he’s gone quiet staring for too long and turns to stare steadfastly out the window. Sokka’s still searching for something to say when Zuko breaks the silence.

“What about you? Did you move here for university?”

“I did, yeah. Came down from Iqaluit. There’s a college up there, but I wanted to go to McGill.”

“Nunavut, wow,” Zuko says. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful up there.”

“In the summer, maybe,” Sokka snorts. “Montreal winters might be bitter, but they’re practically balmy compared to what we get up there. I _do_ miss the Northern Lights, though. The night sky is something else in the north.”

Zuko gives him the barest hint of a smile before turning back to the road. “I miss _Oshogatsu._ New Year celebrations in Japan. I used to love it as a kid.”

Sokka finds himself smiling back. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

Zuko’s eyes shift away, hands tightening on the steering wheel. His expression shutters. “We left when I was eleven.”

Sokka wonders what he said wrong, trying to think of something else to ask. “Any siblings?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Zuko’s face goes downright stormy, and Sokka sees the clench of his jaw as he grits his teeth. “A younger sister.”

“Hey, me too,” Sokka says, grateful for the slight reprieve.

“Right,” Zuko says. He looks like he’s trying to force himself to relax, but his voice is still stiff and strained. “You two share an apartment?”

“Yeah, she moved in at the end of summer. She just started her first year.”

“You must be close,” Zuko says, and his tone sounds off.

Sokka can’t help the grin that stretches over his face. “Yeah. We are.”

Zuko’s lips twitch, like he wants to smile but just can’t manage it. “That’s really nice.”

Sokka nods. “It is.”

It’s quiet then, the only sound between them coming from the air vents—Zuko has the air conditioning on. Not that Sokka’s complaining. It might be the first week of October, but it’s been pretty warm for autumn.

The car grinds flawlessly to a halt, and Sokka looks up to see that Zuko has pulled up outside his apartment building.

“Thanks for the ride,” Sokka says. He takes his backpack from where it’s been resting against his legs in the footwell and opens the door.

“No problem,” Zuko tells him. “It was nice to meet you. See you Monday.” He speeds away as soon as the door has slotted closed.

Sokka sighs. He really did it this time. Put his foot in his mouth and made Zuko uncomfortable. As he starts up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, he berates himself for asking about Zuko’s family. It’s not his place to know—he only met the guy earlier today.

Hopefully on Monday, Sokka won’t make a fool of himself again.

* * *

At the next red light, Zuko rests his forehead against the steering wheel.

Why does he always have to get so awkward and weird whenever his family is brought up? It’s a normal thing to talk about when you meet someone new, you talk about your life and your family and your siblings.

 _That’s why your only friend is Aang,_ Zuko’s brain helpfully supplies. _He already knows all the dark shit that happened in the past._

Zuko hates to admit it, but his brain is most definitely right.

But _ugh._ Zuko wouldn’t mind if Sokka became his friend. He was nice, and smart, and patient even when Zuko ripped that physics diagram out of his hand in frustration.

Zuko thought he was better than this—he went to therapy about his family and everything—but as soon as Sokka mentions _home_ and his _sister_ Zuko’s clamming up and feeling like he needs to let the car climb up to over a hundred and twenty kilometers per hour.

Zuko knows he’s going to have to tell Sokka at some point. It was only by a small miracle that Sokka even agreed to tutor him in the first place, especially with the whole hand-over-mouth thing and forcing him to come to his apartment. He knows that Sokka would probably still tutor him without an explanation, but he wants a chance to explain himself for his weird behaviour.

God, that’s going to _suck._

Zuko tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and makes a quick right turn, on his way back to his apartment. He forces thoughts of his family and childhood to the back of his mind. Right now, he’s plotting ways to _kill_ Aang for not warning him that his girlfriend’s brother was hot _,_ and he’s going to enjoy doing it.


	3. Chapter 3

Zuko plans to tell Sokka about his family on Monday. But when Zuko unlocks the apartment door, Sokka trailing in behind him, he can hear Aang’s new age music spilling into the living room.

Zuko walks into Aang’s room and asks him to wear headphones, but it turns out Aang gave Katara his own earbuds when they were studying in the library and she forgot to give them back. Instead, Sokka, like the perfect human specimen that he is, offers up his over-the-ear headphones. Zuko and Sokka get right into the physics assignment that’s due on Wednesday, and then there’s no time left to bring up the whole family backstory thing. Zuko decides to wait until Wednesday.

Except on Wednesday, Zuko and Sokka walk into the apartment to find Aang _and_ Katara this time, doing yoga together in the middle of the living room.

“Katara!” Sokka exclaims, dropping his backpack by the door and kicking off his sneakers into Zuko and Aang’s shoe pile. “I didn’t know you were here!”

Katara slowly eases up from downward dog, grinning at them as she bends down to grab her water bottle. “Aang wanted someone to practice on for his certification.”

“Cool,” Sokka says.

“Dude,” Zuko says, standing over Aang who is executing a perfect crow pose. “We need the room.”

Aang doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even open his eyes. “Just go study in your bedroom.” He doesn’t even sound breathless.

“No,” Zuko says.

Aang finally peeks open an eye, barely wavering as he looks up at Zuko. “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Aang closes his eye, head turning back down. “What’s the magic word?”

“Aang.”

“A good word, but not the magic one.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“That’s a statement. Not a word.”

“I know where you hide Appa’s treats to make him like you more.”

“You’re bluffing,” Aang says immediately. “And of course he likes me more, he’s my _son._ ”

Zuko belatedly looks up at Sokka and Katara, who are both looking at him with matching amused expressions, like they’re trying to hold in their laughter. He glares down at Aang. “Fine. _Please._ ”

A slow grin stretches across Aang’s face, and he finally lowers his toes to the ground, shaking out his arms as he stands. “Was that so hard?”

Zuko doesn’t dignify that with a response. He just locks eyes with Aang, points at Aang’s yoga mat and then makes a shooing motion in the direction of Aang’s room.

Aang shakes his head, but he looks more amused than annoyed.

“Come on, Katara,” Aang sniffs, head held high. “Let’s leave these two to their shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans?” Zuko whispers to himself.

He catches the tail end of a look that Katara gives Sokka, her lips moving as she mouths something to Sokka. Sokka widens his eyes at her, nostrils flaring. Zuko has no hope of understanding the silent communication.

Katara goes to shut the door once her and Aang are safely inside their room, yoga mats in hand, and Sokka calls out, “Hey! Door open.”

“Sokka!” Katara pokes her head out, looking disgruntled, ears turning a dull red.

“Door… open.”

She huffs, giving him a long glare. Eventually, she leaves the door open a tiny crack.

“That’ll do,” Sokka says, sounding pleased with himself.

“They’re not actually going to do anything,” Zuko tells him. “We’re right outside.”

“Oh, I know.”

“What?” Zuko laughs. “Then why the whole…” he waves a hand in the direction of Aang’s room to refer to the conversation that just happened.

Sokka smirks. “I’m her big brother. It’s my job to make her life difficult.”

Zuko can’t help the way his eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. It’s enough to make Sokka laugh.

“You’re telling me that you never teased your little sister?”

Zuko thinks of the time he pulled Azula’s pigtails when she was seven and the claw marks she’d left behind that didn’t heal for two weeks. Azula was praised. Zuko was sent to a military camp.

“No.”

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, I had no idea I was in the presence of a _saint._ Should I bow, or–” Sokka actually makes to bend over, and Zuko kicks his leg.

“I hate you,” Zuko says.

“You know, in these past couple of sessions, I’ve learned that when you use words of violence, they’re actually words of affection.” Sokka adopts a sappy tone, pressing a hand to his heart like he’s touched. “I never knew you felt that way about me.”

Zuko narrows his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Sokka grins. “I would never, Saint Zuko.”

“You see, that right there, that’s pushing it.”

“Oops,” Sokka says, not looking the slightest bit repentant. “My bad.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. He gestures to the dining table. “Physics?”

“Ooh, talk dirty to me.”

Zuko hates the way he feels his cheeks heat up, eternally grateful for his long hair that can hide his face. “Shut up.”

So, Wednesday is a bust. Zuko promises himself that he’ll tell Sokka the truth on Friday.

But then Friday comes and Zuko gets his mark back on that physics worksheet—an A!—and Sokka is so unbelievably proud and happy that Zuko can’t bear to bring down the light-hearted mood. 

He watches as Sokka starts playing _Walking on Sunshine_ from his phone, shimmying across the hardwood floors and dancing with Appa—he legitimately holds Appa’s front paws while they bop back and forth. Appa actually seems to be enjoying it, too. It’s not the first time Zuko thinks that Aang’s sheepdog is plain weird.

_Walking on Sunshine_ turns into _Feeling Good_ and Sokka turns back to Zuko. “What, you can’t take a break to celebrate this amazing achievement? An A on a physics worksheet! You did so well!”

Zuko presses his lips together, trying not to smile at Sokka’s words of praise. Sokka is a pretty boy dancing in his kitchen with his roommate’s dog because Zuko got a good grade—there’s no need to get all _emotional_ about it, _god._ Who is he, a teenage girl in a bad high school rom com?

“ _Birds flyin’ hi-i-i-gh, you know how I feel._ ” Sokka starts singing along to the Michael Bublé cover, and Zuko feels his eyes widen, his heart doing an odd jumping motion in his chest. Sokka’s obviously not trying to actually sing _well,_ but it still sounds good, all low and honey-like. Zuko swallows thickly.

“ _It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life, for me-e-e-e,_ ” he looks straight up at Zuko. “ _And I’m feelin’… good._ ” He starts dancing and snapping his fingers like an idiot to the resulting orchestra beats, and Zuko feels like his feet have been frozen to the ground, helpless to stare and watch.

Sokka starts to laugh, letting the music fade into the background. “Come on! What, you don’t like this song? I can put on some Pharrell Williams, instead.”

Zuko just lifts a pointed eyebrow.

“What, you have something against Pharrell Williams?” Sokka asks.

“I never said that,” Zuko sniffs.

“Then who would _you_ suggest?”

Zuko looks down to the floor, thinking about the _Think Happy Thoughts_ playlist Aang made him for the flight from London to Montreal. He narrows his eyes over at Sokka before finally relenting. “Play Lizzo.”

Sokka snaps his fingers, pointing his index finger at Zuko. “You’re a genius. See? I told you. You A-getting musical _genius_.” He taps the screen of his phone a few times, and _Good as Hell_ starts playing.

“Then back to physics,” Zuko says.

“Of course,” Sokka says. The chorus starts, and Sokka starts singing, “ _I do my hair toss,_ ” as he ruffles Appa’s fur, then studies his nails as Lizzo sings _check my nails,_ before turning to Zuko and to say in a cheesy tone, “Baby, how you feelin’?”

“Feelin’ good as hell,” Zuko says dryly, in time with Lizzo.

“Yes!” Sokka cries. He starts dancing instead of singing along with the rest of the lyrics, grinning over at Zuko. “I’ll get you to sing one day.”

Zuko shakes his head. “Over my dead body.”

“It’ll happen.”

“It definitely won’t.”

“Sure.”

“It _won’t_.”

“Whatever you say, Zuko.”

Zuko turns back to the dining table, recognizing an argument that he won’t win. He sits down at his regular spot, looking over at Sokka flatly. “I don’t pay you to dance around my apartment, you know.”

“Then don’t pay me for today,” Sokka tells him, and Zuko looks steadfastly down at his notes as Sokka does a complicated hip thrust shimmy move. “You’ve already paid me way too much for what I actually do.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. He points to Sokka’s chair opposite him. 

With a start, he realizes that he’s started to refer to it in his head as _Sokka’s chair_. They’ve only had _four_ sessions—Zuko really needs to chill. “Sit.”

Sokka finally drops into his chair, and Zuko tries not to feel the zip of adrenaline at the sight of Sokka flushed, a faint sheen of sweat making him look fresh and dewy. “Alright, what’d you learn today?”

It takes Zuko a moment to register that Sokka has spoken, and that he had asked a question that most likely doesn’t have an answer of _I learned that you have a really nice singing voice and that you can actually dance and I kind of want to know how those two things might translate to a bedroom setting_. “Uh.”

Sokka takes pity on him, clearly misinterpreting his non-answer as Zuko being bad at physics and not Zuko being tongue-tied over thinking about Sokka’s dark skin against his silky bedsheets. “Hand over your notes.”

Zuko tries not to actively swallow his tongue and gives Sokka his notes.

“Oh, yeah, I remember this. Okay, so you want to start by…”

So, Friday is _also_ a bust.

Zuko spends the weekend talking himself in and out of actually telling Sokka the truth—clearly the gods above are conspiring against him and don’t actually want him to tell Sokka. It’s the only answer.

Aang’s been holed up in his room all weekend, writing a paper on the importance of air currents, or something. Aang had explained the topic to him, but Zuko kind of tuned out in the middle of it.

On Sunday night, Aang finally emerges. He catches Zuko stewing, then disappears back into his room. He’s out again a moment later, silently making his way over to Zuko, holding out his extra yoga mat without a word.

Zuko _hates_ how well Aang can read him. But he supposes being friends for so long, it’s kind of a given. With a sigh, Zuko takes the mat.

They don’t speak. Aang doesn’t even talk him through the routine like he usually might, just to work on his teaching skills. They stay in corpse pose for longer than they need to, but Aang doesn’t comment, just stays by his side as he waits for Zuko to work through the mess in his head on his own.

Zuko finally opens his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling. He looks over at Aang, and finds Aang already looking back.

“I’m gonna tell Sokka,” Zuko says.

Aang nods, the movement awkward as his cheek is pressed into the mat. “I’ll go over to Katara’s. Steer clear.”

“Thank you,” Zuko says, and he doesn’t really know what he’s thanking Aang for—the silent therapy session, or the promise of privacy on Monday.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter. Aang smiles over at him, soft and proud. “I love you, man. You know that, right?”

Zuko doesn’t know anyone else that would take an hour out of their evening before an important deadline to do therapeutic yoga with their roommate. But that’s just who Aang is. “I know.” He narrows his eyes at Aang. “I guess I love you too.”

Aang’s soft smile fades into a look of fake affront. “You _guess?_ ”

Zuko lets his limbs sink into the floor and laughs.

* * *

Monday afternoon, Zuko leads Sokka into his blissfully empty apartment. Zuko almost expects Aang to have forgotten to go over to Katara’s, but he should have known better—Aang wouldn’t forget something this important to Zuko.

“Appa!” Sokka calls, as has become custom as soon as he’s fully inside the apartment. “Here, boy!”

Appa comes bounding down from the hallway, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Sokka drops to his knees, hugging the dog close and patting his belly as Appa licks and slobbers all over his face.

Zuko watches in disgusted fascination as Sokka just lets it happen, grinning all the while.

“You know,” Zuko starts, dropping his bookbag on the dining table, pulling out important papers as he goes. “You don’t have to let him drool on you.”

“He’s giving me _kisses,_ Zuko. I can’t say no to _kisses._ ” Halfway through the statement, Appa knocks Sokka flat on his back and starts licking determinedly at Sokka’s mouth, and Sokka splutters. He gently pushes Appa’s face away. “Okay, that was kind of gross.” He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “That’s the last time I have peanut butter before coming over here.”

Zuko laughs at him. “You know where the bathroom is, if you need it.”

Sokka waves a disgruntled hand and goes to find the bathroom.

Sitting heavily in his chair at the table, Zuko puts his head in his hands. He’s going to tell Sokka today, and it’s going to be _fine._ He’s mostly worried that Sokka’s not going to want to tutor him anymore, and he’s going to be right back to square one, but Zuko figures that he dragged him into this mess, it’s only fair that Sokka understands the potential consequences.

Zuko raises his head once he hears footsteps coming towards him.

“I used your toothpaste, hope you don’t mind,” Sokka says. He slides into the chair opposite Zuko, one leg tucked up underneath him. He must notice Zuko’s tense posture and worried eyes, because he asks, “Hey, are you okay?”

“I—uh.” Zuko swallows, looking away. “I need to tell you something.”

“Is this about the toothpaste, because I just figured that you’d be cool with–”

“It’s not about the _toothpaste,_ Sokka.”

“Oh,” Sokka says, sounding confused. “Okay, then. What’d you want to tell me?”

Zuko takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “You probably noticed—Do you remember that time I drove you home, and you asked about my family–”

“Hey, I’m really sorry about that. It wasn’t my place, and I won’t bring them up ag–”

“Would you shut up?” Zuko bursts out, then immediately deflates, hunching in on himself. “Sorry. Just… let me talk. If I didn’t want to tell you, I wouldn’t. But I think you should know. Who knows what I’ve brought you into.”

Sokka looks at him, brow furrowed, nose wrinkled. “Brought me into?” he echoes. “Okay, Mister Cryptic, now you _have_ to tell me what’s going on.”

Zuko nods, steeling himself. 

“My father–” Zuko starts. He clears his throat and starts again. “My father is a powerful man. Wealthy. Well-connected.” He looks Sokka straight in the eye. “And he’s _evil._ Right to the core. I’m telling you this because if he finds out that you’re tutoring me, or if I don’t get an A in this course, I don’t even know what he’d do. He’ll see it as a weakness, a flaw, a defect. He’ll be… furious.” He laughs, but it’s devoid of humour. “Why couldn’t I just be born with a natural talent for physics?”

Sokka is looking at him with wide eyes, lips parted. It seems as if he’s trying to process what Zuko has just told him. “So… when you say you need an A in this course… it’s because of him?”

“Yeah.”

Sokka shifts his gaze to the table, shaking his head. “He expects perfect grades but doesn’t allow you to have any help? That’s… fucked up.”

“I know. He’s always hated the idea of extra help if it’s not necessary. If he knows I’m getting tutored, he’ll think I’m weak. And I—I can’t have that.” Quietly, Zuko adds, “Not again.”

Across the table, Sokka is silent for a long time. Finally, he says, “Well, shit. I guess we just need to get you an A in this course, then.”

“It’s not just that, though,” Zuko tells him regretfully.

“There’s _more?_ ” Sokka asks, crestfallen.

Zuko looks away, peering through the windows and down into the streets below. “My sister. Azula. She’s my father’s daughter, through and through. I’ve been to therapy—I’ve _done_ my time. I’ve worked through my shit. But Azula… not so much. She wasn’t close to my mother like I was, or my uncle. She didn’t have _Aang_. All she has is my psychopathic father’s version of love and support.” He reaches up and drags his fingers through his hair so it’s out of his face. “The good part is that I don’t think we’ll have to worry about her, she’s still in London with her two friends and I haven’t heard from her in months.”

Sokka is quiet for a moment. “Okay,” he says finally. “Thank you for telling me. But… what does this have to do with the tutoring stuff?”

Zuko sighs, his eyes falling closed for a moment. “I wasn’t lying when I said my dad was powerful. He basically has his own military _._ Spies.”

“Hold on.” Sokka raises a hand, fixing Zuko with a hard look. “For a second I thought that you just alluded to the fact that your dad might be spying on us, but then I realized that we _aren’t_ in an action film and that you didn’t _actually_ just say that.”

Zuko looks over at him, eyes sad.

Sokka gapes. “Seriously? _Spies?_ I’m only a tutor!”

“Keep your voice down!” Zuko hisses.

“What, now the apartment is bugged? Zuko, this is _ridiculous._ ”

Zuko takes a deep breath, gazing at Sokka levelly. He needs Sokka to realize how severe this situation actually is. “I’m dead serious, Sokka. Ask Aang, if you want. He’s seen it firsthand.”

Sokka slumps back in his chair, crossing his arms. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he mulls this information over, his leg bouncing incessantly underneath the glass table.

After a few minutes of silence, Zuko says quietly, “I understand if you don’t believe me, and I understand if you don’t wanna be involved with all…” Zuko twirls a finger into the air, gesturing at nothing in particular, “… _this._ Just–” he exhales softly. “If someone approaches you, you cannot, _under_ _any circumstances,_ tell them that you were tutoring me. My father _cannot_ know.”

“I could just say that we were taking the same class and doing homework together,” Sokka suggests offhandedly.

“No,” Zuko answers immediately. “You can’t lie with something they can fact check. One look into the university database and they’ll know we never had a class together.”

Sokka gives him an incredulous look, one that says, _You’ve got to be shitting me_.

Zuko looks back evenly. “I wish things were different. God knows I wish I could have been born into a different family.”

Sokka casts his gaze around the lavish apartment that Zuko and Aang share. “It can’t be all bad,” he says. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s about to smirk, but then decides not to at the last second.

Zuko hums, thoughtful. He looks at the flat screen TV, the imported rugs, the top-of-the-line stainless steel kitchen appliances. “Some people wouldn’t want to spend their family’s blood money. But I take pleasure in spending it on dumb shit. Why do you think I don’t care how much I pay you? Better in your pockets than his.”

“Um.” Sokka clearly doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Yeah. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I should have let you know straight from the beginning.”

“Oh my god,” Sokka whispers, like he’s just realized something. “This is why you didn’t want me to tutor you in that library. You were worried someone would see us and tell your father.”

Zuko nods. “Exactly.”

“Holy _shit._ ”

“If he found out…” Zuko almost goes to trace the scar that lines his cheekbone, the one left behind by his father’s sharp ring and strong right hook, but at the last second, he curls his fingers into a fist.

Sokka’s hand reaches out, covering Zuko’s fist with a tight grip. “It’s okay. He won’t find out. We’re gonna get you that A, Zuko.”

A small sliver of hope seeps into a dark crack in Zuko’s heart. “You don’t want me to get another tutor? Are you sure?”

Sokka gives Zuko’s hand another squeeze. “No, of course not.” He shrugs, trying to keep the mood lighthearted, then gives Zuko a wicked grin. “I love to live on the dangerous side.”

Zuko rolls his eyes.

“Danger is my middle name.”

“I’m firing you.”

“That’s not allowed—check the contract.”

“We don’t _have_ a contract,” Zuko reminds him. He watches through the table as Sokka’s foot reaches out to nudge his calf. It makes him look up.

Sokka is watching him with an expression that Zuko can’t quite decipher, and when he speaks, his voice is soft and gentle. “Hey. It’s going to be fine. Your dad’s not gonna find out. I promise.”

Zuko finds that Sokka’s words are surprisingly comforting, and his shoulders slowly climb down from where they’ve been hunched around his ears. Logically, Zuko knows that Sokka can’t promise anything. But his sincere brown eyes and the warm hand covering his are doing wonders to prove to Zuko that this is a problem that they can face together.

It’s a feeling that Zuko has felt before, on a day long ago. His father had taken him to his business partner’s house to sit in on an important meeting, and Zuko had spoken out of turn. Ozai had started to yell at him, and a little kid with no hair had jumped to Zuko’s defense. The kid took Zuko’s hand and led him out of the room, and they played for the rest of the day in the backyard. 

It was maybe the first time that Zuko had actually felt like a kid, just a normal kid with nobody hovering over him, waiting for him to fuck up. Zuko remembers feeling like all that weight he’d been holding up himself was no longer just his responsibility—Aang’s been sharing that weight since they were eight. And now… maybe Sokka has taken a bit of that weight on himself now, too.

Zuko’s hand shifts so he and Sokka are practically holding hands. Sokka squeezes his fingers with his own as a slow grin stretches across his face. The smile that forms on Zuko’s lips is unbidden, but not exactly unwelcome, either.

* * *

Sokka gets back to his apartment late that night. He would have been home earlier, but Zuko remembered halfway through their tutoring session that Appa had to be taken on a walk—Aang hadn’t been home between classes like he usually made a point to do. So, they leashed Appa up, and one stop for overpriced coffees later, they arrived at what was apparently Appa’s favourite park.

They were out for over an hour, throwing a foldable frisbee to Appa that Zuko pulled out of absolutely nowhere. Appa was, unfortunately, very bad at catching frisbees, and Sokka sat the dog down and had a long chat about the physics of how to catch the frisbee in his mouth while Zuko tried not to laugh. Eventually, Sokka gave up and they made their way back to the apartment.

By then, it was almost dark. Zuko felt bad about using up their time to walk Appa, and Sokka made an offhand comment about needing dinner to make up for it. Halfway through the rest of their physics lesson, pizza showed up. Meat Lovers—Sokka’s favourite.

Sokka had narrowed his eyes at Zuko. “How’d you know this is my favourite?”

“Aang’s vegetarian. This is what I always get when he isn’t home,” Zuko told him.

Sokka decided to let it go, enjoying the pizza no matter how it had arrived here.

When he finally turns the key and lets himself into his apartment, he finds Aang and Katara curled up on the dingy loveseat, watching a crappy Netflix show.

“Hey guys,” he says. He turns to lock the door before coming further into the room.

“Hey, Sokka,” Aang says.

“You ate at Zuko’s, right?” Katara asks. “We didn’t make any leftovers.”

“Oh, so when _I_ cook dinner, I’m expected to make leftovers, but when _you two_ make dinner, _you_ don’t. Okay. I see how it is.” Sokka sniffs, turning his nose up haughtily, pretending to be offended.

Katara just laughs. “You’re so dramatic! Zuko texted Aang to ask me what your favourite pizza toppings were, so we just assumed you guys had pizza.”

Aang nudges Katara pointedly, and Katara gives him a look that says, _What did I do?_

“Did he, now,” Sokka says to himself. He scoops up Momo from where he’s winding between his legs, cradling the cat like a baby. How _interesting._

“Zuko’s a nice friend that way,” Aang says, giving Sokka a winning smile. But then his expression falls slightly, eyes turning worried. “Did everything go… okay?”

Sokka meets Aang’s gaze, the dark grey irises surprisingly heavy as they meet brown. “Yeah,” Sokka says. “Everything went great.”

Katara looks between the two boys, eyes narrowed. “You guys are so weird.” She shoves at Aang’s arm. “Let me up, I need to use the bathroom.”

Aang dutifully lifts his arm, and she pads down the hallway and into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a dull thud.

Sokka lets Momo climb onto his shoulder, then drops into the spot Katara just vacated. He sits cross-legged, back against the arm of the couch so he’s facing Aang. “Tell me he was exaggerating. Tell me that his dad doesn’t actually have spies following him around, trying to catch him in a lie.”

Aang just looks at him sadly. “He’s telling the truth, Sokka.”

“But— _how?_ Is that even _legal?_ No way it’s legal.”

Aang sighs, all of a sudden looking very tired. “Zuko’s dad works for the government. He’s a foreign dignitary consulting for national security. It’s not even people spying for him, most times. He has access to surveillance, CCTV, satellites. So no, what he does isn’t exactly _legal._ But who’s going to stop him? He’s… he’s fucking _crazy,_ man. The way his mind works doesn’t make sense. It’s insane. I wouldn’t believe it either, if I hadn’t grown up with Zuko. His dad keeps a fucking _file_ and everything _._ It’s… creepy.”

Sokka fixes Aang with a hard look. “Is Katara going to get caught up in this?” He shoves a blunt finger into Aang’s chest. “Because if you’ve involved my baby sister in some weird mafia shit–”

Aang holds up his hands. “ _No,_ ” he assures. “No. It’s nothing like that. Roku, my guardian… he’s a complicated man. But he’s not as crazy as Ozai. And Ozai really only likes to keep tabs on Zuko. His comings and goings, who he hangs out with, that sort of stuff. They stopped following me around after I–” His eyes go wide, like he’s just remembered that he’s talking to his girlfriend’s older brother. His cheeks turn a bright red colour, quickly looking away from Sokka’s piercing gaze. “Uh, never mind. But seriously, don’t worry about Katara. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and neither would Zuko.”

Sokka slumps back into the couch, satisfied with Aang’s answer that Katara won’t be involved. Momo shuffles so he’s resting against Sokka’s head, licking the side of his face periodically. “I feel like I’m in some low-budget action movie. Like… this sort of shit doesn’t happen in real life.”

Aang nods sympathetically, patting his shoulder. “Been there, buddy.” Then he fixes Sokka with a wide grin. “I’m glad you stuck around. Zuko really likes you.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, hoping the rising heat in his cheeks isn’t noticeable. “I’m just teaching him physics.”

“Yeah, you are,” Aang says. “But Zuko… he doesn’t really make friends that easily. It’s only been me for a long time. So, I guess I’m just happy that he has you now, too.”

Sokka isn’t sure what his face does at that comment, but he figures that it can’t be flattering. “Thanks, man. I like him, too. He’s a pretty funny guy when he isn’t getting mad at me because physics is hard.”

“He _is_ funny, isn’t he?” Aang grins, looking thrilled that Sokka noticed. “Sifu Funnyman.” Aang cackles at his own nickname. “I can’t wait to call him that.”

“He might kill you,” Sokka tells him.

Aang cuts a sharp glance over to Sokka, his mouth curling into a mischievous smirk. “I’d like to see him try.”


	4. Chapter 4

So, Zuko might be screwed. _Very_ screwed. 

Because when he told Sokka about his family, about the fact that he might be surveillanced just for tutoring Zuko, Sokka didn’t run for the hills like Zuko expected. Instead, he keeps on meeting Zuko after his physics class with a grin, and Zuko keepings on driving them to his apartment, and Sokka keeps on trying to help him understand physics. 

Sokka says, “You’re getting better,” with a nudge to Zuko’s ribs, and Zuko tries and fails miserably at holding back his pleased smile.

And—dare Zuko say it—he thinks they’re becoming friends. Because their interactions aren’t limited to Sokka spouting different formulas and substitutes and something about efficiency—they actually talk. They talk when they’re walking across campus together to Zuko’s car. They talk as Zuko drives and Sokka sketches, and Zuko admits that he had taken art lessons as a kid. (Sokka adamantly demands to see proof, but Zuko tells him that his old watercolours are probably locked up somewhere in his dad’s house back in Japan, and Sokka screeches, “ _Watercolours?_ ”)

Zuko is screwed because Sokka is _nice._

Okay, well, when he puts it like that, it sounds dumb. But Sokka is _really nice._ Like, nicer than any human should have the right to be. He’s patient when Zuko gets frustrated, and friendly with Aang (although that might be more for Katara’s sake rather than Zuko’s, but he’ll take it), and is always willing to take Appa on walks and give him belly rubs, even when Appa starts whining right in the middle of their physics lesson.

He’s doing it right now, too. Appa’s big furry head is propped up on Sokka’s thigh as Sokka scratches at his neck. He must not be hitting that sweet spot, because Appa starts to get restless, pawing at Sokka’s knee, putting enough weight into it that he actually moves the chair a bit.

“I think Appa wants us to take a break,” Sokka laughs. He puts down his pen—because he’s an evil maniac who does physics problems in pen—and runs both hands through Appa’s fur. Appa’s tongue lolls out happily as he pants, probably in the dog form of ecstasy.

Suddenly, Zuko starts to wonder what it would feel like to have Sokka’s hands on him like that. And not even in a sexual way—he imagines Sokka’s strong fingers raking through his long hair; a warm palm sliding up his arm; them sitting side by side, shoulders pressed right up against each other. Zuko lets out a deep breath. He needs to stop feeling jealous of a stupid _dog_ , Jesus _Christ._

“How about it?” Sokka asks, looking up at Zuko.

“Huh?”

“Taking a break. We’ve been at it for over an hour.”

“We have?” Zuko asks, half to himself. He peers over Sokka’s shoulder to catch the time announcing itself on the microwave, and realizes that yes, it’s definitely been over an hour.

“Let’s take a break,” Sokka decides. “Have a snack, or something.”

Zuko watches as Sokka pads into the kitchen, opening up the fridge and contemplating its contents. He seems to decide on a yogurt cup, closing the door with his shoulder and reaching for the cutlery drawer without even looking. Spoon safely in hand, he turns to rummage through a cupboard, and Zuko unashamedly observes Sokka’s ass in those tight jeans as he wiggles further into the cabinet. Abruptly, he spins around, holding up Zuko’s hidden stash of Oreos like a trophy.

Zuko feels his jaw drop open. “How’d you know those were there?” he splutters. “I mean–” he tries to adopt some semblance of casualty. “Those are Aang’s.”

Sokka smirks, like he’d been hoping Zuko would say that. “Oh, yeah?” He flips the package, and Zuko can see the neon sticky note that he’d put on there in a fit of pique when he and Aang first moved in. “Tell that to your handwriting that says ‘ _AANG, FUCK OFF_ ’ in all caps.”

Zuko winces. He forgot he wrote that.

Sokka cackles. He brings over the snacks, setting them on the table before turning back to Appa. “Ready to play, boy?”

Appa goes absolutely feral as Sokka ducks behind the couch to grab his favourite toy. Sokka holds up the mangled rope, Appa jumping up on his hind legs in an attempt to snatch it from his hands.

Zuko sits back and lets them do whatever it is that Appa and Sokka do during their playtime. He’s tempted to eat Sokka’s yogurt, just to bug him, but then Zuko remembers that he hates greek yogurt. He’s not ready to admit that the only reason there’s any stocked in the fridge is because Sokka admitted one day that he liked it as a snack. He’s already had to endure Aang teasing him relentlessly about it when he’d put the yogurt in the cart, he doesn’t need Sokka’s two cents, too. Zuko sticks to the Oreos.

He doesn’t realize that Sokka is staring at him until much later.

“What?” Zuko asks. “Is there something on my face?” He reaches up to wipe at his mouth for any offending crumbs, but feels nothing.

“You…” Sokka’s eyes are very wide. “You eat Oreos like that? What… and I mean this in the nicest way possible… _the fuck._ ”

A laugh bubbles its way into Zuko’s chest. “I eat Oreos like what?”

“Like… like a _sandwich._ In one bite. Without any _milk._ ”

“That’s…” Zuko looks down at the Oreo package, confused. “That’s a normal way to eat Oreos.”

“It is _not._ ” Sokka looks positively scandalized. Appa looks much the same way, but most likely that is due to the fact that Sokka has stopped playing with him.

“Alright, how do you eat Oreos the _correct_ way, then?” Zuko asks, flicking his hair out of his face and crossing his arms.

Sokka’s eyes follow the movement, then snap back to meet Zuko’s. “You twist the top off, soak it in milk, then eat it. Then you lick off the icing on the other side, dip the other cookie in the milk, then eat it.”

Zuko presses his lips together, eyes dancing with mirth. “I’ve never eaten an Oreo like that.”

“ _Zuko!_ ” Sokka’s hand flies to his chest like Zuko has just delivered a fatal blow. “How could you say such a thing?”

Zuko lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. He’s finding this very entertaining. “Because _my_ way is the correct way.”

“It’s not.”

“It definitely is.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I don’t think I am.”

Sokka holds up a hand, cutting off their back and forth. “We need to put this to the test.” He gets this glint in his eyes that Zuko associates with Sokka trying to solve a particularly difficult physics equation. “We need a glass of milk.”

* * *

Sokka sets down two glasses of milk on the dining table. Zuko has cleared away the physics notes while Sokka’s been occupied in the kitchen, an unspoken decision that they’re not going to get anything else done today. 

He settles in across from Zuko, then places two Oreos next to each milk glass. Zuko watches him do it, the side of his mouth curled into a half-grin.

“What are the rules to this… test, oh Master Sokka?” Zuko asks.

“I’m glad you asked, young pupil. First, we’re going to eat it _your_ way. A dry, sad, sandwich cookie.” He enacts a dramatic shudder. “Then, we’re going to do it _my_ way. And you’ll finally see the light.”

Zuko tilts his head, long black hair spilling over his shoulder. “I don’t think I will.”

“Just eat the damn cookie.”

Zuko does, with relish. Sokka watches him with put-upon disgust, then with a long glare at his own Oreo, takes a bite. 

“My throat… so dry,” Sokka rasps. He pretends that he can’t reach the milk glass, clawing across the surface of the table. “If only… I had some milk.” He collapses, face pressed into the glass table, coughing pitifully.

Zuko seems to wait until Sokka is done with his performance before pointedly rolling his eyes at him. “An Oreo is an Oreo, Sokka. They’re good no matter how you eat them.”

Sokka solemnly shakes his head at Zuko. “You must have been raised in a loveless home to be able to say things with such confidence.” 

Zuko gives him a _look,_ completely deadpan.

Sokka feels his eyes grow wide, fully realizing what he just said. “I mean, uh. Oh my god. I didn’t mean–”

“I know, Sokka,” Zuko assures with a small smile. He doesn’t _look_ offended, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t the stupidest thing to say in the history of the world, _ever._ And, like, _a week after_ Zuko had told him about his dad and sister? Is Sokka a complete _idiot?_

“You’re not an idiot, Sokka,” Zuko says, and Sokka realizes he must have said that last part out loud. “It’s okay, I know you were just joking around.”

“Yeah, but it was still a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.” He can’t believe such an insensitive, idiotic phrase even made it past–

Zuko leans forward to wrap his hand around Sokka’s wrist. “Stop beating yourself up and show me the better way to eat an Oreo.”

It only makes Sokka smile a little bit. “So you agree? You think my way is the better way?”

“Hey, I _never_ said that,” Zuko says.

“I think you did.”

“I definitely didn’t.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure that if you play back the recording–”

“ _Sokka._ ”

“What?” Sokka says innocently.

Zuko holds out an Oreo cookie. “Just show me what to do.”

Sokka takes the Oreo. “Okay, so you hold the Oreo like this, then twist off the top.” Sokka holds his two pieces of Oreo up to show Zuko.

Zuko narrows his eyes, but he twists the top off without a problem.

“Now you hold the part _without the icing_ in the milk until it softens.”

“Until it softens?” Zuko echoes doubtfully. “But the crunch is the best part.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Sokka says, then dunks his Oreo half into his glass of milk. He looks at Zuko meaningfully until he does the same.

Zuko looks at his wrist like he has a watch on it. “How long is this supposed to take?”

“Patience, young grasshopper.”

Zuko props his head up on the table with the hand not currently holding half of an Oreo in milk, blowing upwards to get a strand of hair out of his face.

The movement catches Sokka’s attention, and he looks over at Zuko. The way he’s draped himself over the dining table has the light from the windows catching on the slant of his scarred cheekbone, the tips of his eyelashes, painting him in an ethereal glow. Sokka’s lips part.

“What?” Zuko asks.

“Nothing!” Sokka squeaks, looking away hastily. “I think it’s ready.” He lifts the half of the Oreo out of the glass, letting it drip a few times into the milk before tilting his head back and dropping it into his mouth. He groans. “So good,” he mumbles around the cookie.

Zuko doesn’t look impressed, but does deign to eat his cookie.

“And now for the icing. The _best_ part.”

Sokka determinedly does not make eye contact with Zuko as he starts to lick off the icing. The last thing he needs right now is an inappropriate situation downstairs. He can practically feel the heat of Zuko’s gaze on him, and he finally flicks his eyes over to the other boy.

“Are you sure I can’t just bite it off?” Zuko asks, then starts to contemplate the icing seriously.

“ _No,_ are you _crazy?_ You have to _lick it._ ”

Zuko slowly meets Sokka’s gaze from underneath his eyelashes. “Oh, I have to _lick it,_ do I?”

Sokka feels his cheeks start to burn, and he looks away. “Yeah,” he says quietly. God, this was such a dumb idea. He never should have criticized Zuko’s way of eating Oreos—he should have just played with Appa and minded his own damn business. But _no,_ he couldn’t do that, and now he has to sit across from Zuko as he licks the icing off his Oreo with gusto. “Oh my _god,_ ” Sokka murmurs to himself, with feeling.

“Hmm?” Zuko raises his eyebrows at Sokka, tongue pressed flat against the cookie.

“Nothing,” Sokka says weakly. Some days he loves his brain, but today is not one of those days. Katara might be onto something when she tells him that his ideas are always the worst. He clears his throat. “Almost done?”

Zuko hums an affirmative, and if the floor beneath Sokka were to open up and swallow him whole, he would honestly welcome it. Sokka stares down at Zuko’s feet through the table, repeating to himself different physics formulas— _velocity equals change in position over change in time, speed equals distance travelled over change in_ time—in an effort to calm himself down.

“Sokka,” Zuko says.

“Yeah?” Sokka replies, not ready to look up at Zuko, just in case he’s still going to town on that Oreo. Who knew Oreos could be so erotic? Not Sokka, that’s who.

“Are you gonna put the other half in the milk, or what?”

Sokka belatedly looks up at where Zuko already has his clean half of the Oreo dipped in the milk. Zuko’s expression is expectant, and he’s looking at Sokka like he’s worried for his sanity. Well, Sokka is also worried about his sanity, so he’s glad they’re both on the same page.

Zuko gestures once more to Sokka’s empty milk glass. “I don’t know how long to hold it in for! Hurry!”

Sokka dunks his Oreo into the milk.

“This is fun,” Zuko says unexpectedly after a moment of silence, eyes fixed on his milk. “More fun than the way I eat Oreos, at least.”

Sokka finds himself grinning over at Zuko, unable to stop himself. “So you like my way better!” he crows.

Zuko looks up sharply, softened by the half-smile that’s growing on his lips. “We’ve not finished your way yet, so I can’t say definitively whether it’s the best way or not,” he says innocently.

“Jerk,” Sokka says.

Zuko just smirks harder, lifting the cookie out of the milk and taking a bite. Sokka does the same, and they finish eating their Oreos in silence.

It seems like it takes Zuko three entire years for him to finally stop chewing. Sokka presses forward over the table, eyebrows raised expectantly as Zuko finally swallows. He smacks his lips a few times, lips pursed as he pretends to think.

“So?” Sokka pushes.

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“My way is better.”

Sokka’s jaw drops. “ _What._ ”

“I’ve tried both ways and I have come to the conclusion that my way is better.” Zuko shrugs unrepentantly. “Sorry.”

“No,” Sokka says. “I refuse to believe this _slander._ ” He reaches for the Oreos, but Zuko snatches the package away from Sokka’s hand and jumps to his feet. The chair screeches back so quickly that it almost topples over. Before he knows what’s happening, Sokka is rising from his own chair and chasing after Zuko.

Zuko darts to the other side of the couch, clutching the Oreos to his chest protectively. Sokka puts his hands on the back of the couch, leaning closer.

“I’m gonna get the Oreos, Zuko,” Sokka tells him. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“I’ll never give them up,” Zuko replies. “You’ll have to pry them from my cold, dead hands.”

Sokka narrows his eyes, leaning farther forward. “That can be arranged.”

He plants a firm hand on the back of the couch, pushing himself up and over the couch in a single bound, but Zuko has already made a break for the kitchen.

Sokka is right behind him. Zuko pushes a barstool over as he runs to try and trip Sokka up, but Sokka leaps over it, and he feels like an Olympic hurdler. Zuko’s eyes widen as he sees Sokka gaining on him, grabbing the edge of the kitchen island counter and using the momentum to spin himself in the opposite direction.

Sokka takes off after him, putting on a sharp burst of speed. He _just_ manages to snag the back of Zuko’s shirt, and yanks him back towards him. Zuko goes flying backwards, his back hitting Sokka’s chest with a bodily _thump._ Wrapping one arm around Zuko’s chest in a strange bear hug, Sokka uses his other hand to reach for where Zuko’s holding the package of Oreos straight out in front of him.

“Urgh,” Zuko grunts, and Sokka can feel it rumble in his chest. With a start, Sokka realizes they’re pressed _very_ close together, but then Zuko is tilting his head and a curtain of black hair falls in front of Sokka’s face.

“Hey!” Sokka cries, spluttering. “That’s playing dirty!”

Zuko snickers, arm still holding the Oreos determinedly out of reach. “Gotta use the tools available to you,” Zuko manages, trying to shift his feet to twist out of Sokka’s grip, but Sokka holds fast.

“You dirty cheat.”

“I am _not!_ ”

“You–”

The front door to the apartment clicks open, slamming against the wall behind it. Zuko’s head snaps up immediately to see who’s come in, and his body goes limp, arm holding the Oreos dropping to his side. Sokka, vision finally clear of Zuko’s hair, swoops in and takes the Oreo package, crowing triumphantly.

Belatedly, he realizes that Zuko is still standing completely frozen, staring off to the side. Sokka silently follows his gaze to the open door. He’d thought that Aang was just arriving home, but the person standing in the doorway is decidedly _not_ Aang.

There’s a beat where no one says anything, but then the girl crosses her arms and leans against the door jamb.

“Well, who is this?” the girl asks. Her voice is hard to describe—piercing like a sharp needle; analytical and cold. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Zuzu?”

Sokka stares at the girl. Her hair is pulled up into a high bun, bangs forcing her dark eyes into shadow. Red lips stretch into a sharp, biting grin. Suddenly, Sokka realizes that he is literally hugging Zuko from behind, and abruptly pulls his arm back like Zuko’s chest has burned him.

The girl flicks her hair out of her eyes in a similar gesture to Zuko, and Sokka quickly looks between the two of them. Zuko _did_ mention a younger sister, didn’t he? But Sokka is pretty sure that Zuko also told him that she was living in London.

“Cat got your tongue, Zuzu?” the girl simpers. She pushes herself off the door jamb, walking a couple of feet closer.

Zuko finally speaks. “What are you doing here, Azula?”

 _Azula,_ Sokka thinks _._ So, this _is_ Zuko’s sister.

“What, I can’t come visit my big brother?” Her eyes flick over to Sokka, and Sokka gets the feeling like he’s being picked apart, layer by layer, with nothing but her simple gaze. “I suppose I should have called. I didn’t know you had… company.”

Sokka meets her eyes levelly, trying not to give anything away. Zuko’s words _all she has is my psychopathic father’s version of love and support_ ring through his mind, and then _you cannot, under any circumstances, tell them that you were tutoring me_. Sokka sends a silent thank you to whoever might be listening that they had already put away Zuko’s physics notes before Azula made her miraculous entrance.

“Why aren’t you in London?” Zuko asks again. “Are Mai and Ty Lee here, too?”

“Aw.” Azula is close enough to Zuko now to reach up a hand, nails black and sharp against Zuko’s cheek. “More interested in Mai than your own sister? That’s cold, brother.”

Zuko pulls his face away from Azula’s grip. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”

Without missing a beat, she says, “Tell me what _you two_ are doing here, and I’ll tell you what _I’m_ doing here.”

“I live here,” Zuko says, voice as cold as Sokka has ever heard it.

Azula rolls her eyes, mouth twisting unpleasantly. “Yes, I _know_ that.” She turns to Sokka, giving him a long glance over. Sokka suddenly feels the need to put on a jacket—preferably one that covers his entire body. “I was talking about this tall drink of water, right here.” She flicks the end of Sokka’s wolf tail, and Sokka tries not to narrow his eyes at her.

“This is Sokka,” Zuko says stiffly.

Azula smirks, sharp brown eyes almost glittering. “You two seem… close.”

Sokka glances down and sees that he and Zuko are still pressed right up against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Everything that Zuko told him a week ago comes crashing down on him—the whole thing about Ozai’s spies being able to fact check any lie they could come up with. His brain is going a mile a minute, trying to figure out a way out of this that doesn’t end with Zuko’s secret coming out. 

If Azula is as close to her father as Zuko implied, then anything that Azula sees she’s most likely going to report back to him. Zuko had seemed so nervous at the prospect of Ozai figuring out that he had a tutor, and Sokka wants to do everything in his power to make it so Ozai _never_ finds out.

He has an idea—but. It’s crazy. _But_ … it’s something that wouldn’t be able to be proven wrong.

His decision is made in a split second.

Sokka wraps an arm around Zuko’s waist, pulling him close. “I’m Zuko’s boyfriend.” He grins over at Azula, playing dumb. “And who are you?”

Zuko and Azula both screech, “ _What?_ ” and Sokka reaches up a hand to scratch at the back of his head. Maybe he should have thought this through a bit more.

Sokka turns to Zuko, who’s looking at him incredulously. “Well. I mean. Uh. We haven’t exactly put a _label_ on it. It’s only been a couple of weeks. But I was hoping we were getting there?” He gives Zuko a pointed look away from Azula’s searching gaze, hoping that he’ll get what Sokka is trying to do. _Trust me,_ he tries to say with his eyes.

“Um,” Zuko says. He swallows, eyes flashing in recognition, then turns to Azula, posture straightening. “Yeah. He’s my… boyfriend.”

Azula looks between the two boys, looking extremely fascinated by the proceedings. “And to think I was worried about you hooking up with pathetic _white girls_ at uni—oh… this is worse.” Contrary to her words, she starts to grin. “This is _much_ worse.”

Zuko scowls. “What are you _doing here,_ Azula?”

“Oh!” Azula says, like she’s just remembering something. “I left something downstairs. Back in a mo’!” She spins on her heel, walking straight back out of the apartment. The door shuts firmly behind her.

In the sudden silence, the full weight of what Sokka has just done falls heavily upon the two boys. He just told Zuko’s sister that he and Zuko were _dating._

“Oh… my god,” Sokka whispers. He steps away from Zuko. “I am… so sorry. If your dad is so uptight about you getting a tutor, I can’t even begin to imagine what he’ll think if he believes you’re gay—it’s just—she saw us, like, hugging? And this isn’t something she or your father can fact check, and—I just. I’m such an idiot, aren’t I?”

“No,” Zuko says abruptly, fiercely. “It was a good idea. Smart. And…” he takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily. He turns his head away from Sokka’s apologetic gaze. “While I may never have confirmed my sexuality outright… this will just prove to my father what he already knows.”

Sokka’s eyes widen at this new information. “Oh,” he whispers.

“Yeah.” Zuko meets his eye for a moment, then looks back down to the floor. He nudges Sokka’s fingers with his own, giving him a small smile. “It’s going to be okay. Azula will probably only be here for a week, then jet back off to London.”

Sokka nods. “Right. We’ll just pretend for a week, then go back to normal.”

“Right,” Zuko repeats.

The apartment door opens up, once again revealing Azula. Except this time, she’s rolling a massive suitcase in behind her.

“What is _that?_ ” Zuko asks.

Azula looks down at the luggage like she’s just seeing it for the first time. “Oh, did I not mention it? I’m moving in!”

“No, you’re not,” Zuko says immediately.

“Yes!” Azula says, clapping once. “I’m starting at McGill. Thought I would see how electrical engineering goes for me.”

“It’s the middle of the semester,” Zuko protests.

Azula walks her suitcase further into the living space, gazing out the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. She turns back to the two boys, eyes sharp and calculating. “Father pulled some strings. And since you and Aang already have an apartment so close to the university, it just makes sense that I’d move in. This place is _massive._ Surely you have a spare room?”

Zuko seems to be at a loss for words. Without saying anything, Sokka just points her in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Wonderful,” Azula says. She gives Sokka an appraising once over. “I’m looking forward to getting to know my brother’s _boyfriend_. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.” With a swing in her step, she seems to glide down the hallway, disappearing from sight.

A strange feeling starts to seep into Sokka, deep in his gut. He turns to Zuko, seeing the expression of shock and disbelief mirrored on his friend’s face.

So… Azula _isn’t_ staying for a week. She has instead… moved in with Zuko. To stay. Indefinitely.

Alright. This is fine. Everything’s going to be _great._

They both turn to stare down the hallway after Azula.

“We’re fucked,” Zuko whispers.

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles innocently*
> 
> So... who's right about the Oreos? Sokka or Zuko?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! 🎃

Sokka stands in the middle of his favourite thrift store, holding up a green tote bag, examining it critically. He tilts his head, admiring the gold buckle adorned on its side. “Tell me I don’t need this bag.”

“You don’t need that bag,” Toph tells him dutifully, voice ringing out crystal clear through his headphones. “It’s big and ugly and when are you ever going to use it?”

Sokka sighs, pouting. “But I want it.”

“Then stop pouting and get it.”

Sokka doesn’t even bother asking how she knew he was pouting, because over the past two years of being Toph’s friend, he’s learned that Toph just _knows_ these things. It doesn’t matter that she can’t see it, she knows anyways. Plus, she’s been on enough shopping trips with Sokka to know how the day usually plays out.

“I’m gonna get it,” Sokka decides. He lifts the bag strap over his head so he’s wearing it cross body, then turns to the rest of the racks, immediately zeroing in on the jacket section.

Toph hums. “How much is it?”

Sokka shrugs, sifting through hangers and hangers of thrifty goods. “I didn’t look.”

“You didn’t _look?_ Are we living in the lap of luxury now, or what?”

“I, uh, came into a bit of money, recently,” Sokka says vaguely.

So what if he hasn’t told his best friend about the fact that he’s tutoring a really hot guy, and this hot guy has sort of, kind of, maybe, become his fake boyfriend? That doesn’t _mean_ anything. The whole thing seems sort of _personal,_ somehow. Something that he doesn’t exactly want to share.

He’d already had to explain the whole thing to Aang and Katara when he’d gone home that night. He doesn’t exactly have a strong motivation to do it all over again with Toph, and especially not while he’s out in public. Sokka peers up at the security camera in the corner of the store and wonders if Zuko’s father is watching him right now. Just in case he is, Sokka gives the camera a little mocking wave, blowing it a kiss.

“Sokka, you know you can tell me anything, right?” Toph asks, and her voice is soft. Non-threatening. It makes Sokka feel absolutely _terrible._

“Yeah, Toph, I know.”

“So, if you’ve become a drug dealer in my absence, you’d tell me, right?”

Sokka gapes down at the military jacket he’s been eyeing. “Toph!”

Her raucous laughter thunders into Sokka’s ears.

“I have _not_ become a drug dealer!” he cries. Several heads whip around at the sudden shout, and Sokka shrinks into himself. Perhaps he said that a _bit_ too loud. “Now people think I’m a drug dealer, thanks for that,” Sokka whispers harshly.

Toph sniffs, her chuckles dying down. “Oh, Snoozles. I really needed that, thank you.”

“What, people aren’t making you laugh in Rome?”

“I’m in Germany now,” Toph tells him matter-of-factly.

“You’re _what now?_ Why didn’t I know this? Actually, I know why I didn’t know this. It’s because you _never_ _call me._ ”

“ _You_ never call _me!_ ” she protests.

“I have called you three times in the past _week,_ and they’ve all gone to voicemail.”

“Oh,” Toph says, and she sounds contrite. “Oops?”

Sokka sighs, letting his shoulders slump. “It’s okay. I know you’re having the time of your life in Europe.” It’s quiet over the line for a moment, and finally, Sokka gives in. “Why are you in Germany?”

“To see the sights,” Toph replies. “ _Duh._ ”

Sokka laughs. “Rome just not doing it for you?”

“Nah,” Toph says, all casual like. “The Italians are too loud. Always blah blah, pasta this, blah blah, wine that. It gets too much for a girl.”

“I thought you were supposed to be _studying,_ Toph,” Sokka says. 

He lifts up a coat, eyebrows raising. It’s long and black, with a high collar and velvet lapels—it looks straight out of a Dracula film. After a long look, he sets it back on the rack.

“And who says I’m not?” Toph asks.

“Uh, maybe the fact that you’re in Germany in the middle of the week?” Sokka responds. “This study abroad program you’re in must be pretty chill.”

“Or maybe I’m just a genius, Snoozles. Ever thought of that?”

“Oh, of course, Genius Beifong, I bow to your superior knowledge.” Sokka actually starts to bow to the clothes rack before he realizes that would be _very stupid_ and stops himself. He sees what looks like a thick denim jacket a few feet down the aisle as he’s still somewhat lowered, then shuffles himself further down to tug it off the hanger. “Oh, my _god,_ Toph, I just found what might be the best denim jacket in the entire world.”

“Oh? Tell me more,” Toph says.

“It’s light wash, with two breast pockets, silver buttons on the sleeve. It’s _heavy._ Oh my god, I want it so bad. Think of the pins I could put on the left panel! Ooh, ooh! Or the mural I could paint on the back! Toph! Tell me I need this jacket.” While he talks, he hangs the green bag he’s now feeling undecided about over the rack, sliding the denim jacket on. He catches his own gaze in the mirror behind him, smiling roguishly as he fixes his collar.

“I think you need this jacket, Sokka,” Toph tells him. “It _really_ defines your shoulders and brings out the blue in your eyes.”

“My eyes aren’t blue, Toph,” Sokka reminds her.

“Oh, yeah. Well, you can’t say I didn’t try.”

Sokka laughs, then sighs wistfully. “It’s just like old times,” he says, taking the jacket off and laying it over his arm as he continues to peruse. “What would I do without you?”

“Have terrible fashion sense, probably,” Toph says, deadpan.

Sokka frowns. “Rude.” He’s about to follow that up with something else when his phone starts buzzing incessantly in his back pocket. Sokka fishes it out—the picture flashing on the screen is one that he’d taken of Zuko, his hand raised to the camera to ward off Sokka’s attempt at taking a contact photo for him. Between his fingers, Sokka can just see the edge of Zuko’s smirk, the light in his eyes, his hair a blur of motion as he tries to cover his face. It makes Sokka smile.

“Sokka? Earth to Sokka?” Toph’s voice is incessant over the line. “Hello?”

“Oh, sorry,” Sokka says distractedly. “I’m getting another call.”

“Perfect! I need to go anyways,” Toph says. “Lovely to chat with you, Snoozles. Tell Katara I said hello!” And then she’s gone.

“Goodbye to you, too,” Sokka says to no one, then taps the screen to accept Zuko’s call. “What’s up, honeybunches?”

Sokka can practically feel Zuko roll his eyes through the phone. “I’m at the park with Aang and Appa, you don’t need to worry about Azula overhearing us.”

“Okay then, what’s up?”

Zuko’s tone turns hesitant. “So… we kind of have a problem.”

“Problem?” Sokka asks. His mind goes immediately to Zuko saying the word _psychopath_ and automatically looks back up at the security camera with trepidation. “What kind of problem?”

“Azula… might have… invited you and I out to go clubbing on Halloween.”

“Oh,” Sokka says, immediately relaxing. “I thought it was going to be something _bad._ ”

“Sokka, this _is_ bad,” Zuko replies, voice rising. “This is _very_ bad.”

“No, it’s not,” Sokka says. “She _asked,_ right? That’s easy. Tell her thanks, but no thanks.”

Sokka can hear Aang laughing in the background while Zuko groans loudly. “That’s the _problem._ I might have… maybe…” Zuko rushes the last part of the sentence out all in one breath, barely loud enough for Sokka to hear it, “already told her we’d go.”

Sokka freezes, blinking at the hat stand he’s found himself standing in front of. He can’t believe the words that have made it past Zuko’s mouth. “ _What!_ Zuko, you _didn’t._ ”

“I _know,_ okay,” Zuko says, his next words sounding almost panicked. “But she made a dig at me about how I’m always so terrible at costumes–”

“You _are_ terrible at costumes, Zuko,” Sokka hears Aang snicker faintly.

“Shut _up,_ Aang,” Zuko says, his voice muffled like he’s pulled the phone away from his face. There’s a thump and then a low groan, and then Zuko’s back on the line. “ _Anyways,_ we’re fucked. She baited me into saying yes, so we’re going clubbing, and now we need couples costumes, like, yesterday.”

Sokka looks up from the printed button up shirts he’s been sifting through, his head whipping back to the coat rack he’d been looking over earlier. A smile pulls at his lips. He has a _brilliant_ idea.

“I’ve got just the thing,” he says smugly.

* * *

With Azula officially moved in with Zuko and Aang, Sokka and Zuko have lost their physics tutoring space. Sokka had asked if Zuko was _sure_ they couldn’t study at the public library, but only lasted three seconds under Zuko’s resulting glare before offering up his own place as somewhere they could go that would be away from Azula’s keen eyes.

Sokka had been nervous about having Zuko in his shoebox of an apartment, but Zuko didn’t seem to mind. He took one glance around the living space and gave Sokka a tiny smile.

“It’s cozy,” Zuko had said.

Sokka just laughed. “That’s what rich people say when they really mean _H_ _oly shit this entire apartment is the size of my kitchen_.”

“Sure,” Zuko had agreed, giving Sokka a look over his shoulder. “Whatever you say, Sokka.”

Then Momo had scared the living daylights out of him by leaping onto his shoulder, but after a quick round of introductions—“Zuko, Momo. Momo, Zuko.”—Zuko had reached up to scratch the cat between his ears, and Momo nuzzled into the side of his neck.

Now, they step into Sokka’s apartment, and Zuko immediately picks up Momo from where he’s mewing up at them.

“You’ve kept me guessing for _days,_ Sokka,” Zuko is saying. “Just tell me what costumes you got us. It better not be completely embarrassing, or I _will_ have to do something drastic.”

Sokka puts his hands on his hips, watching Zuko as he threatens him. The effect is somewhat lessened by the fact that Zuko is clutching Momo to his chest and bouncing him like a baby. Sokka raises his eyebrows.

Zuko seems to belatedly realize what he’s doing and drops Momo back to the floor. The cat meows despondently, turning to Sokka for love and affection. Sokka gives it happily. He scoops Momo up and props him on his shoulder, and the cat shuffles along until he’s straddling Sokka’s neck and resting his front paws on the top of Sokka’s head.

“Just show me the costumes,” Zuko huffs.

“Okay, okay, _fine._ But I think you’re really going to like it.”

* * *

It’s a week later when Sokka is sitting in his bathroom, letting Katara put the finishing touches on his costume.

“Hold _still,_ Sokka.”

Sokka whines, but does settle back into the chair that Katara had dragged into the bathroom exactly for this occasion. She tilts her head, stepping back to assess her work before looking back down to the reference image she’s using for the artistry she’s performing on his face.

“Katara, we’re going to be late,” Sokka says, because _they are._ They’re meant to be meeting at Zuko and Aang’s apartment before heading out to the club, and Sokka is pretty sure they were supposed to leave, like, ten minutes ago.

“Maybe that’s because you’re not holding _still,_ ” Katara retorts testily, pressing her brush back to his forehead.

Sokka rolls his eyes, and it earns him a sharp smack to his arm.

Katara points the makeup brush directly at his face. “I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I did _not_ spend the last hour perfecting this werewolf look for you to cop out at the last second. I’m almost done.”

Sokka fully deflates at that, because Katara’s right. She really doesn’t have to be doing this for him. She had just finished her own Sally costume and makeup, then stumbled upon Sokka struggling _hard_ with his own makeup.

“Why is art so much harder when it’s on your own face?” Sokka had asked pitifully, and Katara returned with a fistful of brushes and bottles and hadn’t left since.

With one last flick of her wrist, she pulls back. “You’re gorgeous,” she announces.

Sokka turns his head, looking at the finished product in the mirror. “Damn,” he says, leaning closer. “This is _really_ good.”

“Thank you,” Katara says. “Now put on your fur coat. We need to leave in five, or else we really _are_ going to be late.”

* * *

Sokka sits awkwardly in Zuko’s living room, trying not to make eye contact with Azula and her two friends as he waits for Zuko to _put the finishing touches on his costume_ , whatever that means. Aang and Katara are doing something in Aang’s room—Katara had said something about perfecting Aang’s Jack Skellington costume—leaving Sokka all alone with three girls who look like they want to squish him like a bug. It doesn’t help that they’re dressed like the Heathers—their sharp blazers and short pleated mini-skirts and smirking red lips aren’t doing much to convince Sokka that they wouldn’t be able to cause him serious bodily harm if they so chose. They look _deadly._

Sokka casts a glance towards Aang’s bedroom, silently pleading for either him or Katara to step out and save him from his imminent demise. No one comes to save him, so Sokka reluctantly turns back to Azula and her friends. 

“Nice costumes,” Sokka tells them, for lack of anything better to say.

“Thank you,” Azula drawls, eyes narrowing. “And… what are you supposed to be?”

“Uh,” Sokka says. He sort of thought it was obvious, what with his face makeup and the faux fur coat. Of course, it _is_ a clubbing outfit, so maybe the mesh shirt is too much of a creative liberty on Sokka’s part. He thinks the brown leather pants are a nice touch, though. “A werewolf?”

Azula hums, admiring her fingernails. They’re red this time, a perfect shade match to her red blazer.

“I like it!” Azula’s friend pipes up—Sokka thinks Aang introduced her as Ty Lee. The girl bounces up from where she’s been sitting next to Azula and comes to perch herself on the arm of Sokka’s chair. She leans further into him. “Y’know, even as a werewolf, you’re kinda cute.”

The other girl next to Azula, the one in the green blazer, lets out a bark of laughter. It’s surprisingly dull. “You know he’s dating Zuko, right?”

“What?” Ty Lee squeaks. Her gaze snaps to Sokka’s, suddenly intense. “Is that true?”

Sokka starts to nod. “Uh, yeah,” he says.

“Oh,” she says quietly, wincing slightly. Her eyes dart over to the girl in the green blazer. “Sorry, Mai.”

Mai just rolls her eyes, flicking her long black hair over her shoulder. “It’s fine. Doesn’t matter.”

Sokka looks between Ty Lee, her expression sad and regretful, and Mai, who just looks disinterested, like she’d rather be anywhere else but here.

“Wait, what?” Sokka asks, extremely confused by the exchange that just happened.

Azula leans forward, reminding Sokka of a shark sensing the blood of its prey. “Did Zuko not _tell_ you? Yikes.”

Sokka draws his eyebrows together. “Tell me what?”

“Azula, shut up,” Mai says, tone surprisingly sharp.

“No, I think Sokka here deserves to know.” Azula fixes her friend with a hard look. “Don’t you agree?”

Mai holds Azula’s gaze for a long moment, the tension in the room slowly rising, before she finally looks away.

Azula turns back to Sokka with a smirk. “Zuko and Mai, well. They used to be together. You know, like _dating._ Always on and off again.” Under her breath, but still loud enough for Sokka to hear, she says, “Wonder how long this off period will last.”

Sokka stares, trying not to let the shock he’s feeling show on his face. _This_ is who Zuko grew up with? With someone who makes snide comments about her brother’s significant other right in front of said significant other?

Considering how Mai reacted, Sokka supposes that the whole thing about her and Zuko dating in the past is true. But what a dick move on Azula’s part. Who would _say_ something like that?

“Right,” Sokka says. “Um.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, already getting to his feet. If he stays in their presence any longer, he’s going to say something that would most definitely reflect badly on Zuko, and he would rather lose a toe to frostbite than do that to him. “I’m going to go find Zuko.”

“You do that,” Azula grins.

Sokka turns and pads across the apartment, turning the corner and knocking on the closed bathroom door. “Zuko? It’s me.”

There’s a heavy sigh from the other side of the door. “Yeah, come in.”

Sokka turns the knob, coming face to face with– “Holy _shit._ ”

Zuko looks over at him, eyes wide. “It looks bad, doesn’t it? God, I fucking hate Azula and her terrible ideas. Let’s just not go.”

Sokka lets himself have a moment to take in Zuko’s costume. His hair is slicked back from his face in true dramatic vampire fashion, and he’s wearing skin-tight black jeans, a collared shirt that is unbuttoned to almost his belly button, and the long Dracula coat from the thrift store that Sokka had given him. It fits him like a _glove._

The more Sokka looks, the more he notices—the rings on Zuko’s fingers, his painted black nails, the gold layered necklaces that drape artfully against his collarbones. The longest necklace has a circle medallion that rests right in the dip of his chest, under his solar plexus, and Sokka has a moment of madness of wanting to lick the pale skin underneath. Sokka looks determinedly back up to Zuko’s face, only to promptly swallow his tongue. Zuko is wearing _eyeliner._ And–

“You’re wearing contacts,” Sokka says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. Gone are the dark brown irises that Sokka has come to know and love. Now, they’re ice-blue. “Holy shit.”

“They’re too much, aren’t they?” Zuko says, sounding worried. He turns back to the mirror, making a frustrated sound. “I _knew that,_ but Aang convinced me to get them. I really need to stop listening to him–”

Zuko reaches up to take the contacts out, and then all of a sudden Sokka has a hand wrapped around Zuko’s wrist and Zuko freezes. “No!” Sokka shouts. “I mean. No. You look…”— _unbelievably sexy_ —“…great.”

Zuko looks with wide eyes to where Sokka is still grasping his wrist, and Sokka immediately releases him.

“Sorry,” Sokka says.

“It’s… it’s okay,” Zuko says, still looking a bit stunned. “You. Uh. You look really good, too.” Zuko stares down at Sokka’s chest for a moment before looking back up. Sokka, transfixed on Zuko’s lips where he’s pretty sure _fangs_ are peeking out, does not notice.

“Thanks,” Sokka says awkwardly. “Katara did most of it. Um. Are you ready? I think we’re all good to go.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says quickly. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The club is dark and hazy, lights crisscrossing and arcing through the smoky air. The bass thumps hard enough to rattle the table Sokka is sitting at with Aang and Katara. He sips at his fruity cocktail, studiously ignoring what’s happening on the other side of the crowded room. Beside him, Aang and Katara have just returned moments earlier, high off dancing endorphins. Now, they’re both content and leaning into each other, giggling at nothing. 

Despite himself, Sokka rolls his eyes fondly.

He finds his eyes wandering back over to what he’s been trying to be oblivious to, but it’s like there’s a huge neon sign with a big arrow pointing down to it, for all the times Sokka’s looked over. Zuko is leaning against the wall, looking like the gorgeous brooding vampire he was clearly born to be. This by itself would be _fine._ But Zuko isn’t alone. Mai is with him. 

Mai is with him, and she’s _smiling._ Sokka has known Mai for two whole hours by now, and he hasn’t seen her smile once. Apparently, all she needs to do in order to smile is stand next to Zuko—Sokka doesn’t know how long they’ve been talking, but he’s counted four times she’s smiled. The worst part is, Zuko is smiling _back._

With a sharp exhale, Sokka rips his gaze away. He’s frustrated with himself for his own silly thoughts—him and Zuko aren’t actual boyfriends, Sokka reminds himself. The only reason he’s here to begin with is only to make sure that Azula doesn’t know that Sokka is Zuko’s tutor. 

Sokka isn’t _anything_ to Zuko, and it shocks Sokka how much the thought hurts. All he did was open his stupid mouth and create this huge lie, and now Zuko is forced to go along with it. Forced to wear a costume he didn’t want to, forced to come to this sweaty club just to prove to his sister that he and Sokka are a couple. Which Sokka decided for him when he opened his big mouth.

 _And what a great job we’re doing_ , Sokka thinks to himself sarcastically. Zuko had ordered them each a drink, and then Azula grabbed her brother’s arm and pulled him away, and Sokka hasn’t even talked to him since they got separated. All Zuko has been doing the entire night is talking to Mai. 

Sokka sips his drink moodily, only to discover that the glass is empty. He leaves Aang and Katara flirting like highschoolers at the table, pushing past a guy in a Beetlejuice suit, a girl in a skimpy Ariel costume who gropes at his pec through his mesh shirt, skirting a guy who—actually, Sokka isn’t sure who he’s supposed to be, but he’s foregone a shirt, showing off his frankly impressive abs. The guy checks him out, giving him a long look up and down before smirking at him and backing up onto the dance floor. It’s an obvious invitation, and maybe if Sokka wasn’t pretending to be someone else’s boyfriend tonight, he’d take the guy up on his offer. If only Zuko was showing _him_ the same courtesy. 

Sokka steps up to the bar and waves the bartender over, ordering another cocktail. The heavily tattooed bartender dressed as the Mad Hatter must take pity on him, because this time, she puts a pretty pink umbrella into his drink. Sokka gives her a five dollar tip.

As Sokka turns to lean back on the bar, something catches his eye. From the mass of dancing people, lights flashing all around, Azula manages to meet his gaze. She smirks at him, flicking her eyes to the other side of the club, then looks back at him smugly, all the while dancing with some guy in a Joker costume. Sokka follows the gesture, zeroing in on Zuko and Mai, still leaning against the opposite wall of the club. It isn’t much of a different picture than the past times Sokka has seen them, except now they’re pressed even closer together, Mai whispering into Zuko’s ear. Sokka glares over at Azula, who now has her arms wrapped around the Joker’s neck, her eyes challenging from over the guy’s shoulder.

What’s Azula’s game, here? Is she trying to break him and Zuko up? Because that’s kind of hilarious, considering they’re not actually together.

But fine. If Azula wants to play dirty, then Sokka will too.

Sokka takes the final swallow of his drink, slamming it back on the bar before stalking over to where Zuko is blatantly flirting with Mai. Mai eyes him as he gets closer, mouth pursed like she doesn’t know whether to frown or smile. Sokka sidles up into Zuko, pressing closer, his lips inches away from Zuko’s ear. 

“Dance with me,” Sokka says, and it comes out breathier than he intended. 

Zuko turns his head; his hair brushes against Sokka’s cheekbone. There’s a long moment where Sokka thinks he’s about to get rejected, but then Zuko whispers, “Okay.” His breath smells like tequila.

He follows Sokka without looking back at Mai, and Sokka hates himself just a little bit for feeling vindictive. It’s not like she’s done anything bad to him. Except, well. Flirted with his fake boyfriend in front of him, who just coincidentally also happens to be _her_ ex-boyfriend. Whatever. Semantics.

Once they’ve squeezed their way into the middle of the dancefloor, a remix of a popular radio song pulsing through the room, they have no choice but to start dancing. Someone bumps into Sokka’s back, pushing him closer into Zuko; another person’s wild limbs force Zuko to duck to the side, Sokka following. 

Zuko’s lips move, and Sokka can feel the vibrations of his words in his chest where they’re pressed together, but whatever he had said is lost to the music. 

“What?” Sokka shouts back. 

Zuko presses impossibly closer. His leg slots between Sokka’s, breath warm against Sokka’s ear. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing that coat! Aren’t you hot?”

 _You’re hot,_ Sokka almost says. He bites it back at the last second, shrugging instead, smiling coyly. “It completes the look.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, raking his fingers through his hair. Sokka can see the faint sheen of sweat at his temples as he pulls his hair away from his face. Involuntarily, he licks his lips.

Slowly, Sokka starts to realize that he and Zuko are pressed right up against each other, thighs wedged together, chest to chest. Sokka isn’t sure if the thumping reverberating throughout his body is from the bass or from Zuko’s heartbeat. It might even be _Sokka’s_ heartbeat, because his heart is pounding out of control at his sheer proximity to Zuko.

The radio song slowly transforms into something with just as much bass but more synth, the tempo just a tad bit slower. Their bodies automatically start moving to the new beat, until they’re grinding up against each other, slow and deliberate.

Time slows, but the music continues. Sokka doesn’t know how long they stay on the dance floor, surrounded on all sides by other dancers. Maybe he couldn’t get Zuko to sing, but he certainly got him to dance, and Sokka grins up at the ceiling, letting the bass thump through his limbs, spread throughout his entire body. God, he hasn’t had fun like this in forever.

There’s another switch in tempo, still heavy with synth. Zuko’s chest presses firmer against his, his breath coming in short pants against the side of Sokka’s face. Sokka shifts ever so slightly, and then their cheeks are pressed together. They’re _extremely_ close. Close enough, that if Sokka were to turn his face, even just a tiny bit–

Zuko tears himself away, and for a wild moment, Sokka thinks he’s overstepped some invisible boundary. The sudden air in the space between them is like a glass of cold water dumped over his head. 

He’s about to apologize, do _something_ , when Zuko turns his back to him. For a split second, Sokka’s heart _drops._ But then Zuko is pressing up against him, his back molding to the curve of Sokka’s chest.

Oh. Oh, _yes._ Sokka can get on board with this.

Sokka’s hands find their way to Zuko’s hips, lithe and solid as he grinds back against Sokka in time with the beat. Zuko’s fingers come up to clutch the back of Sokka’s shaved head, pulling him closer, enough that Sokka’s lips are just a breath short of being able to press against the side of Zuko’s neck. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, looking down at the necklaces as they glint multicoloured, bouncing against Zuko’s chest. As Zuko throws his head back to rest on Sokka’s shoulder, Zuko inadvertently creates a large swath of pale skin that Sokka has an overwhelming urge to _bite._

The air is hazy, the atmosphere dim, red lights flashing in the corner of Sokka’s vision. Sokka leans down, and when Zuko doesn’t immediately recoil, he presses his lips to Zuko’s neck. He feels a vibration, and for a moment Sokka thinks that it’s just from the music pulsing throughout the club, but then he realizes that Zuko had _moaned._ Holy _shit._

Emboldened by Zuko’s reaction, Sokka presses another tentative kiss down the column of Zuko’s throat. The fingers clutching at the back of his neck spasm, falling away for a moment before returning, gripping tighter than before. Sokka noses his way down to the place where Zuko’s neck meets his shoulder, and he has to reach up and pull away the high collar of the Dracula jacket Zuko is wearing because it’s getting in his way. This time, he nips lightly at Zuko’s skin, worrying the thick muscle between his teeth.

Sokka might have imagined it, but he’s pretty sure he just heard Zuko groan out, “ _Fuck_.” Sokka can’t help the smug grin that he presses into Zuko’s neck, and Zuko’s nails bite into the back of Sokka’s head in retaliation.

Zuko spins back around, and Sokka doesn’t even try to stop his hands from circling Zuko’s waist, yanking him closer. The other boy comes willingly, and then their faces are mere centimeters apart, breath mingling and chests heaving. The tension between them is so thick that Sokka could cut it with a knife.

He can barely _stand it._

“Can I kiss you?” Sokka asks.

There’s a beat. Another.

And then Zuko is pressing forward, slamming their mouths together. Sokka opens up under Zuko immediately, fingers tugging his shirt up until he’s able to slide his hands onto the warm skin of Zuko’s lower back. Zuko gasps into Sokka’s mouth, and Sokka unashamedly presses the advantage, licking into his mouth, slow and languid. He doesn’t even try to hold back his moan as he runs the tip of his tongue over the edge of Zuko’s fangs.

This is definitely going in Sokka’s mental list of the hottest things that have ever happened to him. He’s making out with _Zuko_. Dressed as a _vampire_. Fuck.

Sokka pushes a hand through Zuko’s smooth hair, cupping the back of his head as he presses his mouth harder against Zuko’s. Zuko gives it back just as hard, teeth coming up to bite at his puffy lips. Sokka has never much liked the taste of tequila, but he can get behind the sharp tang if he’s able to suck it off Zuko’s tongue every time.

The edge of Zuko’s fang snags against Sokka’s bottom lip, enough for Zuko to finally pull back. Sokka and Zuko just stare at each other for a moment, eyes wide. Zuko’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Sokka realizes that his lips probably taste like _him._ And fuck if that isn’t the only thing that Sokka can think about right now.

“Do you, uh. Want a drink?” Zuko shouts it over the music, just loud enough for Sokka to catch.

“Yeah,” Sokka almost trips over himself to agree, nodding frantically.

Zuko reaches down to tangle their fingers together, then turns and leads him through the throngs of people surrounding them and over to the bar. Sokka follows, because of course he does. He tries not to smile at the small contact between them—he tells himself that it’s only so they don’t get separated as they weave between girls in devil costumes and guys dressed as Clark Kent.

The bar area is less crowded, and Sokka feels like he can finally pull in a breath of fresh air. Sure, he likes clubbing as much as the next guy, but now he remembers why he doesn’t go that often. Fruity cocktails sometimes make him do crazy things. Exhibit A: he danced with Zuko for who knows how long, and then shoved his tongue down his throat.

 _Fuck,_ Sokka thinks emphatically.

“Tequila Sunrise,” Zuko says to the bartender, leaning half over the sticky top so she can hear him. “And, uh.” Zuko turns to Sokka.

“Sex on the Beach,” Sokka says helpfully, and Zuko’s eyes widen as he turns back to the bartender.

“Yeah, that.”

“Coming right up,” Mad Hatter Lady says, and Zuko rocks back onto his heels, tapping the bar with his knuckles. He sends a sidelong glance over to Sokka, only to find Sokka also giving him a look from the corner of his eyes. Zuko immediately looks away.

_Awkward._

It’s quiet between them until Mad Hatter Lady steps over with their drinks. She slides the cocktails over, winking at Sokka as she pops in another umbrella. Then, she turns to help another patron down the bar.

Then Sokka and Zuko are alone again. Sokka replays what just happened in his head and starts to giggle to himself. He had gotten jealous, dragged his fake boyfriend out onto the dance floor, and then made out with him, hadn’t he? When Aang said that he had a friend who needed physics tutoring, this was definitely not the direction Sokka expected his life to take.

“Are you drunk?” Zuko asks. His voice sounds almost accusatory, tight and strained. His eyebrows are doing something complicated that Sokka has no hope of interpreting.

“I’m not drunk,” Sokka scoffs. “This is only my… third drink?”

Zuko lifts an eyebrow. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“Telling you. Definitely my third drink. And I’ll probably switch to water after this anyways. Hangovers are always a bitch.”

Zuko looks away, taking a sip of his own drink. He looks way too contemplative for a university student in a club full of people in Halloween costumes.

“So what if I’m drunk, anyways? How many drinks have _you_ had?” Sokka doesn’t get what the big deal is.

Zuko just stares at Sokka for a moment, and he looks almost angry. “No reason,” Zuko grinds out.

“It’s okay,” Sokka says reasonably. “I’m pretty sure Azula saw us, so we’re good.”

“We’re good… because Azula saw us?” Zuko looks completely thrown, which only serves to make Sokka more confused.

“I mean. Yeah? On the dance floor. She must have seen us.”

Zuko’s mouth forms a perfect circle. “Right,” he says, voice hard. He’s back to looking angry again. “Enjoy your drink.” Zuko takes his glass, and with a sweep of his long black coat, he stalks off in the opposite direction.

Sokka furrows his brows, suddenly feeling bereft and dejected. His heart slowly sinks as he watches Zuko disappear into the smoky haze of the nightclub.

Shit. Sokka did it again. Put his foot in his mouth and made Zuko uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have brought up the kiss. Obviously Zuko didn’t want to talk about it, or for him to bring it up. 

_Strictly business,_ Sokka thinks, and he hates the way that his chest starts to hurt at the very thought.

But if that’s what Zuko wants, then Sokka will suck it up and get over it. Clearly, Zuko only sees him as a friend. _And that’s fine,_ Sokka tells himself. Zuko needs a friend, just like he still needs Sokka to tutor him. So that’s all Sokka will be. A friend. And that’ll be fine. 

Sokka looks over to where Zuko has returned to his spot beside Mai, and quickly has to tear his gaze away. 

It’ll be _fine._ It has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone please go check out Kia’s [amazing art](https://kiaraalazulu.tumblr.com/post/633511148051955712/id-a-digital-drawing-of-zuko-and-sokka-from) for this chapter. I’m still speechless over it.


	6. Chapter 6

They don’t talk about the kiss. Sokka doesn’t bring it up, and neither does Zuko. They go back to their scheduled tutoring sessions, and they _don’t talk about it._

The first week of November is dull, overcast, and rainy. On Monday, things are pretty much back to normal. Sokka sits with Zuko to make sure that he’s ready for his second midterm on Wednesday. After the exam, they have nothing to work on, so instead, they just hang out at Zuko’s place for the afternoon. They take Appa on a walk as soon as Azula comes home, and things are back to normal. On Friday, Sokka tries to explain the new unit that goes into friction and efficiency, while Zuko just gets increasingly confused. Yeah, things are definitely back to normal.

Except for how they’re _not._

Because Zuko can’t stop thinking about the _damn kiss._ The whole night is ingrained into his mind, branded there like a tattoo.

He’d spent the first little bit with Mai—he hadn’t seen her since he left London, and it was nice to finally catch up with her. Then Sokka came up and asked him to dance, limbs loose and grin easy, and Zuko was helpless to say no. As it turns out, Sokka kisses like he dances—with intention and confidence, slow and deliberate. But then Zuko realized that Sokka had kissed him just so Azula would see, not because he wanted to. And that stung. A lot, surprisingly.

But still. Zuko _can’t stop_ _thinking about the kiss_.

During one of their tutoring sessions, Zuko watches Sokka as he walks into the kitchen, and remembers him leading him to the dance floor.

Sokka smiles at him when Zuko gets a question right, and Zuko thinks of the way those lips felt against his, soft and smooth. 

He sees the way Sokka’s body moves as he ducks into the passenger seat of his car, and thinks about how that body moved sinuously against his own, firm and oh so warm. It’s driving him _insane_.

The worst part is that Sokka doesn’t seem to be affected _at all._ He’s right back to the lovable, adorable, funny Sokka that Zuko has gotten to know in the past month. Gone is the guy from the club who looked at Zuko with a type of burning intensity that lit something inside of Zuko. A type of burning had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d drank that night. 

Maybe Sokka had too much to drink, and truly doesn’t remember it. That, or he just wasn’t as into the kiss as Zuko thought he was. Zuko likes to think that it’s the former, even if it’s only to save his pride.

It’s the weekend now, and Zuko is trying to focus on the other four classes that he’s taking this semester. He’s just finishing up a project proposal for his business class when Sokka texts him.

_you busy?_

Zuko stares down at the text, trying not to read too much into the two simple words. He contemplates his reply. Technically, he isn’t super busy. That doesn’t mean there aren’t things he needs to do, though. He could outline the essay he still needs to write that’s due next week, or edit this project proposal so it’s finished for tomorrow’s class. He could also probably work more on those physics problems Sokka left for him, but he’s having a hard time understanding this new unit on his own.

But this is _Sokka_. And it’s getting increasingly difficult to say no to him. It’s getting to the point where Zuko doesn’t even _want_ to say no to him. It’s a bit concerning.

 _Not really,_ Zuko taps out, wondering what Sokka is planning.

_how are the physics worksheets going?_

_They’re not._

_k. i have a plan that i think will help. pick me up at 1 or else I’m breaking up with you._

That’s another thing Sokka does. He jokes about being his boyfriend. Zuko doesn’t know how to feel about it.

_Where are we going?_

_not telling you! just tell azula that you’re going on a date. v believable._

Because Zuko is a masochist, he types out, _Is this a date?_

The message he gets back is, _you’ll see ;)_

They flirt a lot over text. And in person, too. Zuko isn’t really sure that Sokka _knows_ that he’s flirting. 

He also can’t figure out if Sokka is straight or not. The guy didn’t have any compunctions about kissing Zuko in that club, and there wasn’t a _‘no homo’_ conversation after, so that leads him to believe that maybe Sokka is bisexual? 

But Sokka is so goddamn confusing even on the best of days that Zuko just doesn’t _know._ And it’s not like he can _ask._

_“Hey, remember when we kissed in that club? Yeah, do you like boys?”_

Zuko thinks that would go over _real_ well.

He’s not going to ask because he can’t mess this up—sure, he might be confused about how he feels about Sokka, and how Sokka feels about him, but Zuko still needs a physics tutor. Sokka has dutifully helped him get A after A on every physics worksheet he’s handed in, and Zuko has a good feeling about the midterm he took last week. 

He’s not going to risk his grade now for this fake relationship. Things are kind of messy right now, but Zuko hasn’t forgotten about the reason he’s in this mess to begin with. He needs an A in this course, or else his father is going to find out. And Zuko would like to avoid that at all costs. He’ll swallow his feelings to the best of his ability, be Sokka’s friend if he can’t be anything else, and he’ll get a good grade in this class.

There are bigger things at stake than a boy who might not like him back, Zuko reminds himself. A boy who’s already agreed to act as his fake boyfriend _because_ of those stakes. Zuko shakes his head at himself. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Zuko sighs, pocketing his phone and standing from his desk. He makes his way down the hallway to pop his head into Aang’s room—Aang himself is spread across his unmade bed, earbuds in and phone in hand. When Zuko knocks on the door jamb, Aang looks up, popping one bud out of his ear.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Sokka and I are going out,” Zuko tells him.

“But it’s Sunday,” Aang says, eyebrows drawing down in confusion.

“Yeah, I don’t know either. I don’t even know where we’re going. Just wanted to let you know that I’m going out. And that Azula is still here.”

“Take me with you,” Aang pleads immediately. “I’ll go hang out with Katara, or something.”

“Seriously?”

“No way I’m staying here with _her_ in the house,” Aang hisses. “You’ll never find my body, man.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “She wouldn’t actually kill you, Aang.”

Aang narrows his eyes at his friend. “The difference between you two is that you threaten my life all the time, and yet I know you would never _actually_ kill me. Azula, on the other hand, _never_ threatens my life, but I know that she could kill me if she wanted to.”

Zuko slumps dramatically against the door frame, sighing heavily. He looks down at Aang, who is giving him some impressive puppy eyes. Zuko has been immune to those since childhood, but he has to admit that Aang kind of has a point. He really wouldn’t be able to find his body. “At least make sure Katara wants company before showing up _._ ”

“I’ll text her!” Aang beams up at Zuko, turning back to his phone.

“We’re leaving in five.”

* * *

“Hey, Aang,” Zuko hears Sokka say through the open car window as the two boys pass each other on the walkway up to the apartment’s entrance.

“Hey, Sokka! Have fun wherever you’re going!” Aang presses a couple buttons on the control panel and then disappears inside the building.

“We will,” Sokka says to Aang’s retreating back. He finally reaches the car, leaning into the open window. He looks Zuko up and down. “That is _not_ athletic wear.”

Zuko looks down at his black jeans and favourite designer hoodie. “You never said there was a dress code!”

Sokka presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh. “I definitely _did._ Check your phone.”

“You _didn’t,_ ” Zuko maintains, fishing his phone out of his back pocket. “All you said was–” Zuko reads the message that’s waiting on his home screen.

_wear athletic clothes._

The timestamp says it was sent twenty minutes ago. Zuko looks up at Sokka sheepishly. “Oops?”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “I’ll go get some things from upstairs that might fit you. Hold on.” He swings what looks like a gym bag through the window to rest on the passenger seat before jogging back to the apartment block.

Zuko waits, all the while wondering why the _hell_ he needed to wear athletic clothes _._ It’s a disconcerting few minutes.

Sokka returns shortly after, carrying an Adidas drawstring bag over one shoulder. In Sokka’s absence, Zuko transferred the gym bag to the back seat, so Sokka has no issue climbing into the car. He swings the bag that’s presumably full of clothes for Zuko into the backseat next to his own gym bag, giving Zuko a wide grin.

“Alright, let’s go,” he says.

“Unfortunately, you have neglected to inform me where we are going,” Zuko tells him.

“Just drive,” Sokka says. “I’ll give you directions.”

Zuko gives him a doubtful look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sokka says reproachfully.

“I wouldn’t have to if you would just tell me where we’re going,” Zuko replies, but he still shifts the car into drive and starts off down the street.

“It’s supposed to be a _surprise_. Don’t you trust me?”

Zuko stares at the road ahead of him. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? He sighs, because he knows what his answer is. He’s already trusting Sokka with a whole lot more than where they might be going this afternoon. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”

* * *

Zuko stares up at the stone and metal monstrosity that stands before him. “Allez Up?” Zuko says. “What is this?”

Sokka pushes open the door in lieu of answering, leading them both into a small reception room.

“Sokka!” says someone from the front counter, but Zuko is too busy staring at the poster hung on the wall across from them. It has a picture of a lady rock climbing on it, with the words ‘Allez Up!’ written across the top.

Has Sokka brought him to a rock climbing gym?

“You didn’t,” Zuko says lowly.

“It’ll be fun, I _swear,_ ” Sokka says as he leans closer, whispering in his ear. Zuko hopes Sokka doesn’t notice the shiver that courses through him. 

Sokka turns to the person who’d spoken at the front counter. “Teo! How are you, man?”

As Zuko steps closer to the desk, he notices that the guy in front of the computer is sitting in a wheelchair. Sokka props an elbow up on the counter and leans over the surface. It’s a familiar movement, Zuko realizes. One he’s done often.

“I’m doing good!” Teo responds, grinning up at Sokka. “Anything new with you? Haven’t seen you around here in a while.”

“Yeah, sorry, life got a little hectic,” Sokka says. “But as for something new, this is Zuko.” Sokka’s hand comes to rest on Zuko’s waist. “My… boyfriend.”

Zuko gives Sokka a sharp look, but Sokka is already glancing back down at Teo with a small smile.

“Oh!” Teo says. 

Zuko notes that he sounds surprised, but not surprised in a ‘oh, I had no idea you liked the same gender’ kind of way. He files that information away for later. 

“Cool. Nice to meet you.” Teo sticks out a hand, and Zuko has to step a bit closer to Sokka in order to shake it. Sokka’s hand still hasn’t left his waist.

“Nice to meet you, as well,” Zuko says politely.

“You into rock climbing too?” Teo asks.

Zuko turns his head to give Sokka a challenging grin. “Oh, I don’t know, Sokka. Am I?”

Sokka smirks back. “You will be by the end of today.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise, baby.” Zuko feels his eyes widen, and Sokka inhales sharply, turning back to Teo hastily. “Anyways, we’re here for the drop in.”

“Sure!” Teo taps on the keyboard for a few moments, then points to the pinpad. “Fifty-two dollars.”

By the time the words have registered in Zuko’s brain, Sokka has already paid, sliding his phone back into his sweatpants.

“Fifty-two dollars?” Zuko gapes. “Sokka! I can pay for that.”

Sokka waves a hand. “It’s fine, Zuko, seriously. It’s not a big deal.” Fixing Zuko with a playful glare, he continues, “I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve recently come into a fair bit of cash.”

Zuko just gives him an unimpressed look. “You should’ve let me pay.”

“ _I’m_ the one who invited _you,_ ” Sokka says. “So I pay.”

“I mean, I don’t know if I’d call it an invitation. A kidnapping, maybe.”

“Exactly,” Sokka says with a quirk of his lips. “I can’t let you pay for your own kidnapping. That’d be unethical.”

Zuko is about to reply with something truly witty when there’s a small chuckle from behind the desk.

“Sorry,” Teo says, hiding his smile behind his hand. “You guys are really cute.”

Zuko clears his throat. Sokka scratches the back of his head.

“Anyways,” Teo says. He gestures to his left, towards a shelf full of shoes and boots that’s resting against the far wall. “Remember to put your shoes there—don’t worry, I’ll guard them with my life. Sokka knows this facility inside and out, so I’m sure he can give you the guided tour.” He gives Zuko a wink.

“Right, thanks,” Zuko says, following suit as Sokka toes off his sneakers. Sokka picks up both pairs of shoes and sets them on the shelf. Zuko follows as Sokka starts walking towards the archway that will presumably lead them to the rock climbing area.

“Have fun!” Teo says with a wave.

“We will!” Sokka replies, and then he’s grabbing Zuko’s hand and pulling him through into the adjoining hallway.

“Sokka, I thought I heard your voice.”

The voice belongs to a guy who is standing behind another desk, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. The wall behind him is lined with shelves full of what look like rentable shoes, as well as hooks with cables wrapped around them.

“Haru, hey!” Sokka steps forward, leaning over the counter to give him a huge hug. “What’s up? How’s your dad doing?”

Haru gives him a wide smile. “He’s doing really well, thanks for asking. Chemo sucks, but… I think he’s going to be okay.”

Sokka’s mouth wobbles slightly, and he nods slightly. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says, clasping Haru’s shoulder with white knuckles. His voice sounds thicker than it had a moment ago.

“Sorry, I’m being totally rude,” Haru says, turning to Zuko. He puts out a hand, which Zuko steps forward to shake. “I’m Haru.”

“Zuko.”

“Did my ears deceive me, or did Sokka say you two were dating?” Haru asks with a sly grin towards Sokka.

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Just give us some shoes and a harness, Haru. We’re here to climb, not gossip.”

Haru holds up his hands. “Alright, _fine._ ” He steps away to grab a pair of shoes, setting them in front of Sokka without even asking for his size. Zuko looks between the two boys, eyes narrowed. With the clang of a harness against the top of the counter, Haru turns to Zuko.

Zuko relays his shoe size dutifully, and Haru takes a pair and a harness from the back wall before setting them on the desk.

“Hope you two have fun. Take him to the good wall—you know which one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sokka says.

They grab their shoes and harnesses, then Sokka leads them around the corner, skirting the bottom of a staircase that leads to what looks like a loft level, open to the rest of the massive room.

There are rock climbing walls all around them, stretching up towards the high ceiling. Each one has different colourful handholds jutting out, in all shapes and sizes. Long cables dangle from above. Blue mats have been placed beneath the rock climbing walls, leaving a thin walkway that weaves throughout the different walls, benches dotted around.

“Whoa,” Zuko breathes, craning his neck to take in the huge space.

“You’re not afraid of heights, right?” Sokka asks, sounding slightly panicked.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a real phobia of mine,” Zuko replies flatly.

Sokka’s face falls. He sounds absolutely gutted as he says, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I should’ve asked before–”

“Sokka,” Zuko says, reaching out to circle his wrist, squeezing tight. “I’m joking.”

He looks at Zuko with wide eyes, before they narrow in playful anger. “Zuko! I thought you were being serious!”

Zuko can’t help the laughter that bursts out of him. “You walked right into it, babe.”

The endearment slips out before Zuko can stop it, but Sokka just shakes his head and says, “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“So, uh,” Zuko starts. “Are you ever going to tell me why you’ve brought me here? Other than to laugh at me when I fail?”

“Oh!” Sokka exclaims, like he’s just remembered something important. “Yes! But first, you need to get changed.” He holds out the drawstring bag he’s been carrying, his own gym bag slung over his shoulder. “The bathrooms are back around the corner, down that hallway. I’ll wait here.”

“Okay,” Zuko says dubiously, and takes the drawstring bag. 

He follows Sokka’s directions, and once he’s safe inside a locked stall, he pulls the athletic short-sleeved shirt and shorts out of the bag. The shirt is a bit tight on him, which surprises Zuko, considering that Sokka is broader than him, but the shorts fit fine. He changes quickly, and then goes to meet Sokka where he’d said he’d wait. Except when Zuko turns the corner, Sokka isn’t alone anymore.

He’s talking with a girl who looks around their age, with cropped brown hair and a sharp grin.

“It’s so good to see you! Do you work today?” Sokka is asking.

“Oh, no. I just came in to ask the Boulder a question about one of my students. There’s no classes on Sunday, you know that.” She gives him a playful punch to the shoulder. “Maybe if you’d dropped in once or twice in the past couple months, you’d remember that.”

Sokka grins sheepishly, rubbing his shoulder like the quick jab had actually hurt. “Sorry,” he says. “Life got busy, you know. We should go out for lunch or something, one of these days.”

The girl positively _beams,_ and Zuko’s heart does a weird flopping thing in his chest as she reaches out to gently touch Sokka’s elbow. “I’d really like that. How’s Toph doing? I miss her coming around with you.”

“She’s good!” Sokka enthuses, eyes lighting up. “Last I talked to her, she was in Germany.”

“Germany? I thought she was studying in Italy.”

“Oh, she is,” Sokka replies, and then they both burst into giggles.

“Classic Toph,” the girl sighs.

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees, a touch wistful. He turns a little, catching Zuko hovering on the other side of the stair landing. “Zuko, hey! Come meet Suki.”

Zuko tries his best not to act like he’s been hiding and eavesdropping on their conversation. “Uh, hi,” Zuko says with a little wave. “Zuko here.”

 _Zuko here?_ Internally, Zuko facepalms. What a stupid thing to say.

“Hi!” the girl—Suki—says brightly.

Introductions complete, they both turn back to Sokka, but Sokka is staring down at Zuko’s shoulders with a strange expression on his face.

“What?” Zuko asks, looking down at the shirt. Did he put it on backwards, or something?

“Uh,” Sokka manages. “Your shoulders. Are, um. Broader than I expected. I just grabbed the smallest shirt I had.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, eyebrows raising. He could see why Sokka might be surprised—Zuko is more built than he looks, considering his wardrobe mostly consists of oversized hoodies. “Yeah, I did _kendo_ when I was younger—my father kept on enrolling me wherever we ended up. And Aang keeps on making me do yoga with him.”

Sokka’s eyes are still glued to the tight black t-shirt stretched across his chest. “Mmhmm.”

Suki jabs Sokka in the ribs with her elbow, and Sokka finally glances back up, his ears burning red. 

Zuko figures that the gym must have put on their winter heating a bit too early. It _is_ kind of warm in here.

Sokka turns on Suki with an indignant, “ _Ow!_ ”

Suki just shrugs, completely unrepentant. With a serene smile towards Sokka, she says. “I’ll leave you two to your rock climbing. Nice to meet you, Zuko.”

“You too,” Zuko says, still not completely sure what just happened. He turns back to Sokka as Suki skips away. “Are you okay?”

“What? Uh, yeah! Of course. Why would I not be okay?” Sokka gives him a big grin, and Zuko just shakes his head.

“No reason, I guess.” He holds up the drawstring bag that’s filled with his own clothes. “Is there a place I can put this?”

“Yeah, just over here.” Sokka indicates to the wall behind them; it’s filled with little cubby holes, and other people have placed their bags into the square slots.

Zuko unzips a pocket on the outside of the drawstring bag, taking off his rings. He can feel Sokka’s gaze on him, and heat rushes to his cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t check my texts before I left, okay, I didn’t know,” he says.

“No, no,” Sokka says. “I like your rings. They look nice. On your fingers. Um.”

“Oh,” Zuko pulls off his last ring, dropping it into the pocket and zipping it closed. “Thanks?”

“Jewellery looks really nice on you—I don’t think I could pull it off the same way,” Sokka says.

When Zuko looks up, Sokka is shrugging, turning to pull out his own bag from one of the shelves. “You have a nose ring,” Zuko feels the need to point out.

“That doesn’t count!” Sokka says. He raises a hand to touch the black ring, as if to reassure himself that it’s still there. “I got this when I was sixteen. Definitely doesn’t count.”

“I think you could pull off jewellery,” Zuko says quietly.

Sokka looks over at him, eyes wide. His expression quickly morphs into something more confident, the more vulnerable set of his eyes there and gone again in less than a second. “I promise you that I can’t,” Sokka says with a laugh. “I wore a choker all through high school because I thought I looked cool, but I definitely just looked like a total douche.”

Zuko can’t help the snort that escapes him. He can picture Sokka in a douchey choker so perfectly.

“Hey!” Sokka exclaims, pushing Zuko away playfully. “You aren’t supposed to agree with me!”

“I didn’t!” Zuko replies. “I think you’d look nice in jewellery.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to his bag. “Sure, Zuko. I’m sure you say that to _all_ the boys.”

 _I don’t,_ Zuko means to reply, but then Sokka is quickly shucking off his sweatpants to reveal the athletic shorts he has on underneath, and Zuko loses his train of thought entirely.

“Mlmphgh,” Zuko says, feeling suddenly strangled.

“Hmm?” Sokka asks, folding the pants into a neat square and putting them into his bag. When Zuko doesn’t immediately reply, he follows Zuko’s gaze, which is fixed on the spot just above his right knee. “What is it?” Sokka asks.

“You...” Zuko has to take a deep breath to get the rest of the words out. “Have a tattoo.”

“Oh!” Sokka looks back down at his thigh with renewed eyes. “Yeah! Yeah, I guess you haven’t seen it before.”

“It’s… beautiful,” Zuko breathes, because it _is._ It’s like nothing he’s ever seen before. The tattoo starts with a black band just above Sokka’s knee, and between the first band and the next, there’s a series of intricate dots and lines and upside down Ys. The pattern continues upward along Sokka’s thigh until they disappear into the fabric of his shorts. It’s truly such a beautiful tattoo, and it also gives Zuko a perfect excuse to ogle Sokka’s muscular thighs.

“Thank you,” Sokka says softly, twisting his leg around. “It’s a traditional Inuit tattoo. My cousin did it for me when I went home last summer.”

“It’s really nice,” Zuko says.

Sokka smiles. “Thanks,” he repeats.

For a moment, they just stand facing each other, grinning like idiots. Then, Sokka claps his hands together.

“Alright. Now, contrary to popular belief, I did have a reason for bringing you here today. Come over here.”

After pulling on their harnesses and shoes, they walk deeper into the gym, finally coming to a stop just before a certain rock climbing wall that Zuko suspects is the beginner section. The handholds are close together as they ascend in a straight line, all the way to the top.

Sokka stands in front of his own section of wall, reaching out to unclip a huge carabiner from the wall, easily snapping it into his harness. Without a word, Sokka steps right into Zuko’s space and unhooks the other rope from the wall, doing something to the carabiner that Zuko has no hope of following. A gentle tug to his harness as Sokka clips the buckle into one of the loops causes Zuko to swallow and look away. Sokka’s hands are dangerously close to his groin. 

The heating in this building really must be off the charts, considering the way that Zuko’s cheeks feel like they’re going to flame off. 

“First things first,” Sokka says as he steps away, seemingly oblivious to Zuko’s inner turmoil. He pulls on the cable in front of him. “This is attached to an auto belay, meaning we can climb together. Basically, if you fall off the wall, it will automatically start to lower you to the ground. Try to land on your feet.”

Zuko nods, trying to absorb that information. “Got it.”

“Perfect. But don’t worry about all that. As much as I love to rock climb, this isn’t about teaching you how to do it.”

Zuko looks over at Sokka with a frown. “It isn’t?”

“Nope.” And then, much to Zuko’s horror, Sokka’s mouth stretches into a wide grin. “It’s about _physics._ ”

“Physics,” Zuko echoes doubtfully.

“Yes!” Sokka crows. He must see the look on Zuko’s face, because he tries to reign some of his enthusiasm in. “When we started the friction unit on Friday, I could tell that you weren’t getting it. The physics of friction can be hard to understand on paper, so I thought a hands-on, interactive lesson might be helpful.” As he speaks, Sokka’s shoulders slump, and he hunches in on himself slightly. “Sorry, now that I’m saying it out loud it sounds kind of dumb.”

“No,” Zuko says immediately. “It’s not dumb.” It’s actually really sweet, and thoughtful, and makes Zuko feel all weird and twisted up inside. The fact that Sokka had the insight to realize that his teaching style wasn’t going to work for this unit, and then changed tactics entirely, is actually kind of amazing. The side of Zuko’s mouth hitches up into a small smile. “You’re going to make a really good physics teacher, one day, Sokka.”

Sokka looks up, eyes bright, hopeful but trying not to be. “You think?”

“Yeah,” Zuko confirms. He moves a touch closer to the wall, facing the handholds with only slight trepidation. “Now teach me all about the physics of rock climbing.”

Sokka’s face lights all the way up at that, and Zuko wants to melt into the floor. “Okay, let me demonstrate first, then we’ll get you on the wall.”

Sokka grips the largest jut out with both hands, climbing a few feet before turning back down to Zuko. He starts detailing the difference between static friction and kinetic friction, and how in rock climbing, static friction is created between the rock and the climber’s hands or feet. He continues on, but Zuko is unfortunately fixated on Sokka’s tattooed thigh, which is flush with the wall, muscles straining. 

Sokka keeps on talking, and Zuko belatedly looks up at his face, but then his gaze snags on Sokka’s shoulders and biceps, which are straining deliciously as they hold his body against the wall. Through Sokka’s tight athletic shirt, Zuko gets a nice view of Sokka’s flexing back muscles.

So. Sokka’s plan was good in theory. But in practice… not so much. How is Zuko supposed to focus on physics when Sokka is going to look like _that_ the entire time? While he talks about friction between two forces? Oh, Zuko is screwed. He is _so_ screwed.

Sokka pushes away from the wall, dropping safely back to the mat thanks to the auto belay cable.

“Did you get all that?” he asks.

Trying not to look like a deer caught in headlights, Zuko nods. “Static and kinetic friction. Got it.”

Sokka grins. “Perfect. Now you try.”

Zuko turns to the wall. Just before he puts hands to the holds, he takes the hair tie off his wrist and pulls his hair back and out of his face. Tie secured, Zuko puts one foot on a lower hold, grabbing two larger ones a bit higher as he pushes his body up.

Sokka had said something about friction between hands and rocks, right? Oh, Zuko doesn’t know. He just continues up the wall, assessing handholds and footholds as he goes. After a moment, once he’s halfway up the wall, Zuko finally looks back down to Sokka. He’s standing below, hands on his hips, watching Zuko steadily climb higher.

“Are you coming, or what?” Zuko asks.

Sokka startles slightly, then says, “Yeah, of course.” It takes less than a minute for Sokka to join him up the wall, and Zuko doesn’t think he imagines the way he sounds somewhat out of breath. “I’ve never seen you with your hair up before,” he says completely unprompted, and then continues on like he didn’t say anything. “Alright, onto friction force. Are you feeling your hands start to get sweaty?”

Zuko blinks at the two very different statements that left Sokka’s mouth. He adjusts where his hands are holding onto the plastic rock. “Yeah.”

“Sweat reduces friction between our hands and the rock. Reduced friction increases the likelihood that we’ll slip and fall.” Sokka reaches for a handhold further up, then dramatically lets go, letting himself drop straight back down to the mat.

Zuko watches him go. He calls down, “Was that necessary?”

Sokka laughs as he unclips his cable then locks it to the wall. “I have to go grab some chalk for us. Keep going! Think about the _friction_. The _physics._ ”

Without Sokka there to distract him, Zuko finds that thinking about the friction of his shoes and hands against the rocks isn’t too hard. Perhaps he really _is_ starting to understand what Sokka is trying to explain.

Zuko reaches the top without much difficulty, then slowly sits back into his harness, letting the auto belay gently take him back down to the ground. By the time his feet are back on the mat, Sokka has returned with some chalk powder in a little pouch. He offers the chalk to Zuko, then takes some himself, fastening the bag closed and then attaching it to the back of his harness.

“The chalk dries out a climber’s hands,” Sokka starts to explain as he pats the chalk over both hands. “Which allows our hands to stick to the holds better, thus increasing friction force.”

Embarrassingly, Zuko finds it much easier to listen to Sokka when they’re both standing on the mats.

Sokka sticks out a leg, flexing his foot. “These fashionable climbing shoes also increase friction force. And—here’s another fun trick.” He turns back to the wall, climbing up a few holds so his feet are level with Zuko’s head. “If you drop your heel,” he says, demonstrating on the wall, “you can _create_ friction force, since you’re using your weight to push down on the rock. Now come on up a bit higher, I’ll teach you about handholds.”

Zuko exhales heavily. _Okay, Zuko. Pay attention this time._

He starts up the wall, catching a glimpse at the way Sokka’s legs flex as he shifts from where he’s stopped farther up the wall. With startling clarity, Zuko remembers those thighs bracketing one of his own in the middle of a dark club, remembers that body moving against his own like they were fused together. 

Zuko miscalculates the distance between his hand and the next handhold, just barely holding in his yelp as his toe starts to slip from its hold, and then the auto belay is kicking in and taking him back down to the mat.

Sokka tilts his head down. “Why are you all the way down there?”

Zuko grumbles, shaking out his hands. _Stupid brain._ He begins climbing once again, and this time, he keeps his eyes on the rocks as he steadily makes his way higher.

“You actually created a pretty good example, there,” Sokka says as Zuko comes to stop next to him on the wall. “If you create more force than the static friction that already exists between two objects, hands and feet can slip, and then you fall.”

Zuko has to look away from Sokka’s sincere brown eyes, because that sentence makes him think about something other than just physics. “Right,” Zuko says quietly. “Too much, too fast doesn’t work.”

“Exactly!” Sokka says, sounding proud, and Zuko has to pretend that his chest isn’t aching. 

He forces his bubbling emotions back down, and without waiting for Sokka to continue talking, he keeps on climbing.


	7. Chapter 7

Since they had an impromptu lesson the day before, Zuko and Sokka don’t meet up on Monday. It feels extremely weird for Sokka to be free on a Monday afternoon for the first time in over a month, so he decides to call Suki. She picks up on the third ring.

“Sokka,” she answers warmly.

“Hey, Suki. Have you eaten yet?”

“I haven’t,” she replies.

Sokka grins. “Awesome. How’s lunch sound?”

“Ugh, I’m starving,” she says. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Sokka doesn’t even need to ask where she’s talking about—he already knows. There’s this cozy little café near campus that has the best tea and the most amazing sandwiches. He and Suki had gone there countless times last year after the night class they shared every week. It’s just sort of become their spot.

It won’t take him fifteen minutes to walk over there, so he finishes what he’s working on, then makes his way over. When he walks in, Suki is already at what’s become _their_ table. Half of her hair is pulled into a messy topknot, and she’s clearly come straight from the gym based on her leggings and sport jacket.

Sokka throws his coat over the back of the chair and sits down. He doesn’t look through the menu, and neither does Suki.

“When you said we should do lunch, I didn’t know that you meant the next day,” Suki says wryly.

“Me neither,” Sokka replies. “But I was free, so. Thought I’d at least ask.”

“I’m glad you did,” Suki says, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

It’s then that the owner of the shop meanders over, already carrying a steaming teapot. He’s a short man with a receding hairline and a long grey beard. The skin around his eyes crinkles as he smiles down at the pair. “I haven’t seen you two in here for a while. It’s nice to see some friendly faces back at the Jasmine Dragon.”

“Good to be back,” Sokka says. He and Suki have nudged their teacups to the edge of the table, and the shop owner—Sokka really should ask for his name one of these days—dutifully starts to pour the tea into the waiting cups.

“I hope jasmine is okay,” the kind man says.

“Always,” Suki replies. “It’s my favourite.”

“Oh, mine too,” the owner enthuses. “Did you two want your usual lunch platters?”

Sokka beams up at the older man. “Yes, please.”

The owner pats Sokka on the shoulder like a well-meaning uncle. “Coming right up, son.” He takes the pot and turns to go back into the kitchen.

“I love him,” Sokka says to Suki.

Suki rolls her eyes good naturedly. “You say that every time we come in here.”

“I can’t help that he’s so adorable and kind and loveable!”

She leans back into the booth, making herself comfortable. “So. Are you going to tell me about that guy from the gym?”

To give him time to stall, Sokka takes a sip of his tea, and tries to keep from moaning. It’s perfect, as per usual. How did he stay away from this place for so long? He sets the teacup back to the table. “What guy?”

Suki kicks his leg underneath the table.

“ _Fine,_ ” Sokka hisses, stopping himself from reaching down to rub at his shin. “He’s just some guy I know.”

“Some guy that you _took to your favourite rock climbing gym_ and _introduced to all your rock-climbing buddies?_ ”

Sokka grimaces. He hadn’t really thought that part of the day through. At the last moment, he’d decided to introduce Zuko as his boyfriend to Teo—they were in a public place, after all. What if someone had come to interrogate Teo after following them all the way to gym? He had promised Zuko that his dad wasn’t going to find out that Sokka was his tutor, and he’s determined to keep that promise.

Distantly, he supposes that this tea shop is a public place too, and he should probably be telling Suki the exact same lie. But there’s something about this tea shop that gives off good vibes. Surely eavesdropping in a place like this is illegal, right? 

Sokka still glances around the shop, just to double check there’s not a CIA agent lookalike sitting behind him—there are a few other students sitting in the opposite corner of the shop, laughing and talking quietly. Other than that, the café is empty. Pacified, Sokka turns back to Suki. She’s looking at him expectantly.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says truthfully.

“You have a crush on him,” she says with a smirk. “Admit it.”

Sokka narrows her eyes at her, lips pursed. She looks back evenly, nonplussed.

“You stared at his chest in that tight black shirt for like, ten whole seconds.”

“I did _not!_ ” Sokka splutters.

“You did.”

“Okay, maybe I did,” he admits, deflating completely under her knowing gaze. “Do you think he noticed?”

Suki takes a delicate sip from her cup, contemplating her answer. “I mean, he definitely did. But I don’t think he knew what it meant. Honestly, he looked more confused than anything.”

Sokka exhales heavily, leaning back into the chair. “Thank god.”

Now Suki just looks more confused. “I thought you two were on a date?”

“Not… exactly.” It felt like a date, and Sokka wouldn’t have minded calling it a date… but it wasn’t a date.

“What?” Suki leans forward. “He might not have noticed you literally drooling over him in that tight shirt, but… that guy likes you back.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Sokka sighs.

“I’m pretty sure he does, Sokka,” Suki replies. She cups her drink in both hands. “What makes you think he doesn’t?”

“We… might have…” He looks up at Suki with trepidation, and she gestures for him to get on with it. “We might have… kissed. On Halloween.”

“Sokka!” Suki exclaims, slapping the table and rattling the cutlery across the surface. “Yes!”

“No, _not_ yes.”

“Well, why not? Did he kiss you back?”

Sokka hesitates. “Yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Suki asks.

“I don’t _know,_ ” Sokka laments. “He bought me a drink afterwards, but then I brought up the kiss and he got mad and walked off. I don’t know what I did.”

Suki raises an eyebrow. “He got mad? What were you two talking about?”

“He thought I was drunk,” Sokka replies.

“Were you?”

“No!” Sokka says defensively. “Not at all! He just walked off.”

Suki looks at him flatly. “God, men are so stupid.”

“I take offense to that,” Sokka tells her.

“Good,” she replies. “You should. Sokka, he probably thinks that you kissed him because you were drunk. And that you didn’t actually want to kiss him.”

“But I _asked_ if I could kiss him! That makes no sense!”

“It’s because men are idiots.”

“But why the hell would he–” Sokka cuts himself off as he replays the conversation they had over again in his head. 

Oh, god. He didn’t just mention the kiss. He mentioned it directly in relation to Azula seeing it. Sokka can only imagine what Zuko thought when he said that.

Fuck. Suki’s right. Sokka is a complete _idiot_. He lets his head fall down to the table, slamming into the wood below. He groans.

Suki giggles from above, and he feels her hand ruffle his wolf tail as she pats his head. “Just tell him that you like him.”

“It’s not that easy, Suki,” Sokka says, voice muffled as he talks into the table. “Things are kind of messy right now.”

There’s a creak of floorboards, and then a wise voice says from above, “I don’t think it matters how messy a situation is.” Sokka finally lifts his head, slightly startled. The shop owner is back with their food, and he slides their respective plates onto the table. “You would be wise to follow in the path of happiness and love.”

Suki and Sokka exchange a quick glance, but ultimately, Sokka decides to roll with it.

“Love?” Sokka says with a slight laugh. “I don’t know if we’re there yet.”

“Ah,” the older man says with a kind smile. “ _Yet._ ” He refills their tea, then bows slightly, shuffling away.

“You’re right, Sokka,” Suki says, grinning over one half of her sandwich. “I love that guy. And his timing is impeccable.”

* * *

With Suki and the kind tea shop owner’s wise words ringing through his brain, Sokka waits at his and Zuko’s usual meeting place two days later for their next tutoring session. When the weather was nicer, they used to wait outside, but the weather has been miserable lately, so they’ve moved their spot to just inside the doorway.

Excitement thrums through his veins. Sokka is pretty sure that he’s going to tell Zuko how he feels today. Nerves might get the best of him, but ever since his chat with Suki, he’s feeling like Zuko getting mad at him was just a wild misunderstanding. All he needs to do is clear up the confusion and everything will be okay. Suki’s usually right about these sorts of things.

Sokka often gets to their meeting place _after_ Zuko, so when Sokka arrives and Zuko is nowhere to be seen, Sokka is a little thrown. But sometimes Zuko will grab an iced coffee if he had a late night the day before, so Sokka doesn’t think much of it. He leans against the brick wall and scrolls through Instagram for lack of anything better to do.

There’s an artsy picture that Suki posted the other day of Sokka holding a cup of tea in front of his mouth, eyes wide, and Sokka smiles down at it. Leave it to Suki to post good pictures of her friends. He double taps the picture and then types out a comment that Suki immediately likes. 

He scrolls a little more, and when he finally looks back up, he realizes that ten minutes have passed. Okay, this is definitely unlike Zuko. Something must be wrong.

_hey, where are you?_ Sokka sends.

He waits another five minutes.

No response.

_is everything okay?_

Nothing.

Sokka debates calling Aang, but then he remembers Katara saying something about him having a midterm today. Well. He doesn’t have Azula’s number, and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t call her. But… something seems terribly off about the whole thing.

Why would Zuko not show up? He’s the most punctual guy that Sokka knows, and Sokka has Katara for a sister. That’s saying something. 

Maybe he texted Sokka earlier about cancelling this session? Sokka taps his phone screen a few times, scrolling back through his and Zuko’s texts. They haven’t sent any messages to each other since Sunday night, when they agreed to have Monday off. Sokka feels his eyebrows draw closer together. Something about this is seriously off.

But what could have gone wrong? They talked on the weekend and agreed to take Monday off, so Sokka went to have lunch with–

Oh, god. He taps his way back to Instagram, staring down at Suki’s picture. His lunch with Suki. Had someone heard him talking about Zuko? God, he _knew_ that he should’ve lied to Suki about the whole thing. Now he’s gone and potentially clued Zuko’s father into the truth regarding who exactly Sokka is to his son. _Fuck._

Sokka checks his phone for the time. The drive from campus to Zuko’s apartment is always unreasonably short, short enough that every single time Sokka always wonders why Zuko never just _walks._ So, walking there couldn’t take too much longer, right? Maybe ten, fifteen minutes? Sokka can do that, easy. He wishes he wore something warmer than his newly painted denim jacket, but that’s a small price to pay considering that Zuko could be in serious trouble right now.

He pushes open the door and starts his trek to Zuko’s apartment. It doesn’t take too long at all, and he easily follows the route that Zuko always takes with his car, but this time, on foot.

At the last moment, Sokka changes direction. Instead of walking up to the main entrance of the building, Sokka ducks into the parkade attached to the back. He easily finds Zuko’s parking spot, and he’s only slightly relieved to see that Zuko’s car is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

Sokka walks back the way he came, out to the main entrance. It takes a moment for him to find the button to call the apartment, but then he’s pressing the correct one, ready for Zuko to pick up the call.

The intercom starts to ring, and Sokka waits impatiently, heart in his throat. Once it finally clicks through, Azula’s voice rings out.

“Who is it?” she asks.

Sokka tries not to feel disappointed. “Hey, it’s me. Sokka. Zuko’s boyfriend.” He tries to ignore the thrill that courses through him at his own words. Maybe, at the end of today, he really will be Zuko’s boyfriend.

“Okay?” she intones, inviting further explanation.

“Uh, is Zuko there?” Sokka asks.

Azula scoffs, the sound staticky over the speaker. “How would I know, I’m not his mother.” The words sound more scathing than Sokka thinks is necessary, and he blinks down at the control panel.

“Can you let me up?”

Now Azula sounds amused. “And why would I do that?”

Sokka can’t help the frustrated noise that makes its way past his lips. “I walked through the parkade—Zuko’s car is parked there. So he must be home.”

“Well, aren’t you a little investigator.”

“Please, will you let me up? I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Azula sighs, like this whole conversation has been a terrible burden to her. “Fine,” she says loftily, and then the main door buzzes open.

“Thank you,” Sokka says, but he’s pretty sure Azula has already hung up.

The elevator ride is simultaneously the longest and shortest one he’s ever been on in his life. He almost runs to the apartment door, practically falling over himself to knock, but Azula opens the door before he has the chance to.

She stands between him and the rest of the apartment, eyes narrowed, hand on her hip. Her other hand rests on the door like she’s ready to slam it in his face at a moment’s notice. Belatedly, Sokka realizes that her hair is down, face free of makeup. She’s wearing oversized sweatpants with fuzzy red socks, and Sokka is ninety-five percent sure that Neighbourhood hoodie belongs to Zuko. It almost makes her seem like a normal teenage girl.

But then Azula opens her mouth and ruins the entire illusion.

“You’re wasting your time,” she tells him with a sneer.

Sokka fixes Azula with a hard look. He’s made it this far, he’s not going to let Azula bully him into leaving now. “Will you please let me in?”

Sokka watches as her mouth works, considering. He waits.

Finally, she gracefully steps to the side, swinging the door barely wide enough for Sokka to squeeze through. She watches with narrowed eyes as he slips past her, heading directly to Zuko’s bedroom.

Sokka has seen Zuko’s bedroom before. It’s never been a place they spent extended periods of time in, because why would they, when they had a massive living area with great natural light to use as their study space? But Sokka has always liked Zuko’s bedroom, because while the rest of the apartment is clean and minimal and clearly designed for an egocentric multimillionaire, Zuko’s bedroom is very much the opposite.

Sokka had been surprised the first time he’d seen it, expecting something out of an interior design magazine—something light, bright, and airy. What he got was something else entirely—dark walls, red bedsheets, black duvet. Bookshelves lined one entire wall, volumes upon volumes crammed anywhere they could fit; most books were stacked vertically, others piled on top as Zuko slowly ran out of space. The entire room wasn’t exactly _cluttered,_ but had little trinkets scattered around and hung on the walls that Sokka suspected Zuko picked up during his multiple relocations.

At first, Sokka was confused at how decorated the room was compared to the rest of the apartment. Travelling with so much stuff didn’t seem feasible, but as time went on, Sokka realized that it was a way for Zuko to bring his home with him, no matter where he ended up. It was kind of sweet, really.

Sokka reaches Zuko’s door, letting out a shaky breath as he turns the knob and pushes it open. With the lights off and the curtains drawn closed, Sokka thinks that Zuko isn’t in here. But then he opens the door a little further, and the light from the hallway spills into the bedroom, illuminating the lump in Zuko’s bed. The only thing visible over the mound of bedcovers is the peek of long black hair.

Relief seeps into Sokka immediately. Zuko’s _fine._ He’s in his bed, safe in his apartment. Nothing bad has happened to him. It’s almost enough for Sokka to close the door and leave. Instead, he finds himself stepping closer, sinking down onto the mattress, hip pressed into Zuko’s back.

“Zuko?” he asks softly, gripping what he thinks his Zuko’s upper arm overtop the mountain of blankets. “Are you okay?”

Zuko groans, face scrunched up as he pushes his cheek further into his pillow, tugging the duvet up to his chin. “Aang, go away,” he mumbles, voice muffled.

Sokka feels a smile start to creep across his face. “It’s not Aang,” he says. “It’s Sokka.”

Zuko’s eyes fly open, suddenly wide awake. “Oh god,” Zuko rasps out, voice downright gravelly. “What time is it?”

Sokka glances over to the clock on Zuko’s bedside table. There’s a mountain of balled up tissues next to it, and Sokka winces in sympathy for Zuko’s nose. “Three-thirty.”

“Shit,” Zuko whispers, eyes sinking closed like he doesn’t have the energy to keep them open. His hand emerges from the blanket pile, blindly searching for his phone. He comes up victorious, pulling it out from behind a pillow, but ends up flinging it across the room when he realizes that it’s dead. Sokka supposes that’s why he never got a heads up text. 

“I’m so sorry. I felt bad yesterday, but I woke up this morning feeling like complete shit. I should have let you know I wasn’t feeling up to–” Zuko cuts himself off, eyes flicking to where the door is still half open, “–hanging out today,” he finishes.

“That’s okay,” Sokka tells him, and he finds that he’s really not bothered at all by the fact that Zuko sent him into a panic for no reason. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Zuko cracks open an eye, and Sokka is frankly impressed by the amount of disdain he’s managed to convey with only one eye.

“I mean—you know,” Sokka says. “You’re not _dead,_ or something.”

Zuko tucks himself further into the blankets, and Sokka realizes that he’s shivering. “At this point, death would be too kind. Fate has something else in store for me.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Do you always get so dramatic when you’re sick?”

Zuko narrows his eyes at him. “If you’re not going to be sympathetic, then you can leave.” It’s then that Zuko descends into a coughing fit, terrible, hacking coughs that rack his entire body. They’re violent enough that Sokka has to stand up and move away as Zuko folds into himself, hacking up what sounds like half a lung.

“You okay?” Sokka asks once the coughs start to subside.

Zuko moans pitifully. “I’m fine, Sokka. Thanks for checking up on me, but you can go. I’m not going to be very fun today.”

“Have you had any tea? Or medicine?” Sokka wonders, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“What? Why?” Zuko replies. “It’s just a cold. I need rest, that’s all.”

“Hot liquids might help clear any congestion,” Sokka says. “I can bring you some soup.”

Zuko eyebrows draw together, mouth opening and closing. “You… you’d do that?”

“Of course,” Sokka says immediately. “I’ll bring you some soup. You get some rest, and I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Okay,” Zuko says quietly, watching as Sokka turns to leave the room.

Sokka shuts the door behind him, walking into the kitchen. He drops his backpack to lean against the island counter, taking off his jacket and laying it across one of the barstools.

Azula’s head peeks over the back of the couch, eyeing Sokka as he crosses the short distance to the fridge. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“Making soup,” Sokka replies, pulling out various vegetables that he figures would taste alright boiled in broth.

“What?” Azula says, tone incredulous.

Sokka closes the fridge door with an elbow, giving Azula an incredulous look back. “Why are you so surprised? Zuko’s sick. Soup will help.”

Azula stares at him like he’s sprouted an additional head, and Sokka eventually sighs and turns away, grabbing the broth he knows is in the cabinet next to the sink. He pours it into a large pot, setting Zuko’s fancy stove top burner to boil. Sokka tries to ignore the way Azula keeps on staring at him while he chops the vegetables.

As he swipes the last of the contents into the broth—all he needs to do now is let it boil—he turns to Azula, leaning back on the counter. It’s weirdly reminiscent of how they met each other’s gazes in the club a couple of weeks ago. This time, Azula’s expression isn’t challenging and smug. Instead, she looks confused and taken aback as she watches the pot from afar.

Sokka raises his eyebrows at her. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Azula’s eyes snap to his, as if finally realizing that she has an audience. “Of course I’m okay,” she snarls, instantly disappearing from sight.

It’s odd that both Azula and Zuko are so shocked by the idea of having soup when someone is sick. Sokka turns back to the pot, stirring as he ponders the issue. 

If Zuko is so worried to be perceived as weak by his father for something as inconsequential as a tutor, Sokka wonders how Ozai treated his children when they were feeling ill. Based on Azula and Zuko’s reactions, Sokka figures not that well.

He remembers Zuko telling him about her, so long ago. How he said _She wasn’t close to my mother like I was, or my uncle. She didn’t have Aang._ If Azula didn’t even have her own mother for support, then who did she have? Her father? He shudders at the very thought. Sokka doesn’t even know the guy, but he’s heard more than enough about him.

Sokka finds himself peering over his shoulder at Azula, to where she’s sitting on the couch, facing away from him. She looks engrossed in something that’s in her lap.

He takes a deep breath. “Do you want some?” Sokka asks.

Azula doesn’t reply, eyes never wavering as they flick side to side. She must be reading something.

“Azula,” Sokka says again, and this time, she looks over with a questioning look on her face, lip almost pulled into a sneer, looking like she’s about to berate him for interrupting her. He repeats, “Do want some soup?” and the half-sneer melts off her face, replaced with something softer, more vulnerable.

Sokka never thought _vulnerable_ would be a word he would ever use to describe Zuko’s terrifying sister, and yet, here he is. There’s no better way to describe the sudden uncertainty that flickers across her features before her expression hardens once again.

“Why?” she asks.

Sokka shrugs. “Because I made a lot?” He hesitates for a moment, but then barrels on. “And you look like you might be cold.”

There’s nothing that can explain the stricken expression that shadows her eyes for a split second. Nothing that doesn’t spell Ozai.

“I am _not_ cold _,_ ” she hisses, and she returns to whatever she’s reading in her lap.

Sokka sighs. Well, at least he tried. He takes the pot off the burner and scoops the soup into two bowls. Right before he picks them up to bring them into Zuko’s room, he finds himself hesitating again. He looks over at Azula.

Sokka takes another bowl out of the cabinet and spoons the rest of the soup into it. He pushes it to the edge of the island counter, as close as he can get it to Azula without leaving the kitchen. “It’s here if you want it,” he says.

Azula doesn’t move, doesn’t give any indication that she heard him at all.

With one final glance at Azula, he turns and takes the soup to Zuko’s room.

When Sokka pushes open the door gently, he finds Zuko already sitting up in bed. He’s turned on the bedside lamp, washing the room in a warm glow. The glow unfortunately does nothing to conceal Zuko’s red nose and dark under eyes. His hair is a tangled mess, matted on one side and sticking up at odd angles on the other.

Zuko catches Sokka looking and gives him a dirty glance. “If you say one word…”

Sokka presses his lips together innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Zuko tells him.

Sokka sniffs dramatically. “I can tell where I’m not wanted.” He makes to move back towards the open door. “I guess I’ll just take this soup back to the–”

“No!” Zuko exclaims. “Wait.”

Sokka freezes, then gives Zuko a side eye, mouth pursed. “Yes?”

“Please stay,” Zuko says, voice small. “The soup smells really good.”

The side of Sokka’s mouth quirks up. “Well. Since you said _please._ ” He turns back to Zuko, setting the soup bowl on his nightstand, and Sokka is impressed that he didn’t spill any of it as he carried it in here. Sokka sets the second bowl down on Zuko’s desk, settling into the plush chair tucked in next to it.

Zuko arranges his blankets in such a way that allows him to place the bowl of soup safely in front of him, easy to eat, Sokka watching bemusedly the entire time. Zuko pays him no mind, taking a large spoonful of the broth, blowing on it for a moment before sipping it slowly.

“Mmm,” Zuko hums, taking another spoonful. “This is really good.”

“Thanks,” Sokka grins over at him.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Owe me? What do you mean?”

“For the soup,” Zuko clarifies. “Where’d you get it?”

“Oh,” Sokka says, huffing out a small laugh. “I made it.”

Zuko splutters on the broth, spoon falling back into the bowl with a clatter as he starts to cough. “You…” Zuko manages eventually. “You made this?”

“Yeah?” Sokka says hesitantly, the word coming out more like a question than a statement.

Zuko stares down at the soup in front of him. “I had no idea we even had half this stuff in the fridge. We had broth?”

“You did,” Sokka says, taking a spoonful of the soup. Mmm, it is pretty good soup, if he does say so himself.

Zuko clears his throat, coughing fit finally over. “How’d you even know we had broth?”

Sokka smirks. “Saw it when I was looking for snacks that time I found your Oreo stash.”

The blush that spreads across Zuko’s cheeks is prominent against his paler-than-normal skin. His mouth opens like he wants to protest the point, but then his shoulders slump, and he gives up.

They finish their soup in comfortable silence, then set their empty bowls off to the side.

For a moment, the air is stilted, as they wonder what to do now. But then Sokka says, “I better–” and Zuko says over him, “Do you want to–”

They both freeze.

“Sorry,” Sokka says. “You go.”

“No, it’s fine, what were you going to say?”

“Really, go ahead.”

Zuko looks away, chewing on his bottom lip. “Uh, I was just going to ask if you, um, wanted to, like. Watch Netflix or something.”

Sokka stares over at Zuko. “Oh.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to!” Zuko hurries to explain himself. “I just have this show that I like to watch when I’m sick, and I thought that maybe you’d–” Zuko pulls a face. “Never mind, it was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid at all,” Sokka tells him. “But, um, I do kind of have work I need to do today, so I should… probably…” he trails off, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence.

Sokka’s heart almost breaks as he watches the way Zuko’s face falls, eyes dropping to his hands, mouth twitching. “Right, of course,” Zuko says. He shakes his head, like his idea was the dumbest thing he’d ever thought of in his life. “Of course you have things to do. Obviously.”

Before Sokka knows what he’s doing, he’s opening his mouth to say, “I mean, if you want company, I could always… do my stuff here? You can watch your show, and I can finish my work.” There’s a beat of silence. “You know, if that’s okay with you.”

“Y-Yeah!” Zuko agrees. “If you want to, that is. I don’t want to keep you here if you’d rather be at home.”

Sokka smiles. “No, I don’t mind. Not at all.”

“Okay then,” Zuko replies, and for a few seconds they sit in silence smiling at each other.

“Right,” Sokka says finally, and he points a thumb to the door. “I’ll get my bag from outside.”

Sokka slips out the door and goes to pick up his backpack from where he propped it against the island counter. As he swings the bag onto his back, he notices that the bowl of soup he’d left on the countertop is now gone. Sokka lets a small grin pull at his lips as he looks over at Azula. She must know that he’s in the room, but she refuses to look over at him, eyes fixed on whatever she’s reading.

Sokka grins wider, then goes back to join Zuko in his room.

* * *

True to his word, Zuko starts up a show on his laptop that Sokka doesn’t recognize, mostly because it’s not in English, and Sokka sets himself up at Zuko’s desk. They don’t talk, at first, and Sokka is surprised at how easy this feels, just being in the same room doing things separately but together.

Sokka is almost halfway through his work when he finally sets his pen down and asks, “What are you watching?” Listening to the foreign language in the background had been nice, actually—he always finds it hard to concentrate when things are too quiet, so it hadn’t bothered him. But now he’s unbelievably curious as to what Zuko is watching.

Zuko’s gaze snaps to Sokka’s, surprised. His hands fly to his ears. “Oh, shit, I didn’t put in my headphones, did I?” He groans when he fully realizes that he definitely didn’t plug his headphones in, picking the cord up from a fold in the mass of blankets next to him. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s not a problem,” Sokka assures, which makes Zuko freeze before he slots the headphone jack into his laptop. “I’m just wondering.”

Zuko’s attention slides back to his laptop screen. “Don’t make fun of me,” is the first thing out of his mouth.

“I would never,” Sokka replies solemnly.

Zuko hesitates, but finally divulges, “I’m watching Ouran High School Host Club. It’s about this girl—Haruhi—who joins a group of boys in entertaining the girls of the school. I like to watch it when I’m sick.”

“It sounds cool,” Sokka says.

Zuko is silent for a moment, and then says, “Do you… do you want to watch an episode? They’re pretty short.”

Sokka shouldn’t say yes. He does actually need to get work done today. He really _shouldn’t_ say yes.

He says yes.

Zuko lights up at the agreement, immediately shuffling over on the bed to make room for Sokka, even though the bed is massive and Sokka would have no problem fitting in beside him.

“I’ll go back to the first episode and turn on the subtitles, hold on a second,” Zuko says as Sokka climbs onto the bed. 

“You don’t have to start from the beginning for me,” Sokka tells him. “I’m sure I’ll get the gist.”

“No, I don’t mind going back,” Zuko assures. Sokka starts to slots himself in beside Zuko, but Zuko shies away. “Wait, don’t get too close.”

Sokka stills immediately. “Why?” he asks.

Zuko looks at Sokka like he’s the dumbest person on earth. “I’m _sick._ I don’t want to get _you_ sick, too.”

Sokka smirks. Without saying a word, he lifts up the huge pile of blankets and climbs underneath them.

“Sokka!” Zuko protests, watching with wide eyes. Sokka is already shuffling closer so he can see the laptop where it’s been propped on Zuko’s lap. 

With an innocent grin, Sokka says, “If I do catch your cold, I guess you’re going to have to nurse me back to health.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, turning back to the laptop. “If you _do_ get sick, I’m doing nothing of the sort,” he replies eventually, but Sokka can see that he’s smiling. “Ready?” After Sokka nods in confirmation, he presses play.

Sokka tries not to ask too many questions, but Zuko answers the few that he does have with a small smile. It’s like Zuko is happy that Sokka is taking an interest in a show he likes. Sokka grins back, trying to focus back on the show instead of how they’re lying in Zuko’s bed together. He tries to be less aware of his own shoulder and how it’s starting to press into Zuko’s because over the course of the episode, they’ve slowly relaxed into each other.

As the first episode ends, they shift away from one another.

“You can get back to your work, if you want,” Zuko says, not meeting Sokka’s eye.

Sokka thinks about it. He probably should get back to work, but he’s actually kind of interested in how the second episode is going to play out. He shuffles back over next to Zuko. “One more?” he asks hopefully.

Sokka catches the edge of Zuko’s pleased smile as he reaches over to start the next episode. “Okay,” he says, settling back against the pillows. Sokka can feel the heat of Zuko beside him. He has to tell himself to calm down.

He’s starting to think that maybe Suki was right. He had believed her before, but now there’s evidence that maybe Zuko _does_ like him back. He clearly doesn’t mind Sokka being so close to him and wanted to share his comfort show, which seems intimate, somehow.

Sokka opens his mouth, a burst of confidence coming over him like a tidal wave. He’s going to say something to Zuko, he’s going to clear up all these misunderstandings, and everything is going to work out, he’s sure of it. But then Zuko waves a hand at the screen and exclaims, “This is the best part, watch!” and Sokka’s jaw clacks shut.

Later, then. It’s probably not a good idea to confess your feelings to someone while they’re busy watching one of their favourite Netflix shows, anyway.

By the end of episode two, Sokka would love to continue watching, but he really needs to get back to work. He walks back around to sit at Zuko’s desk and opens his notebook. He listens to the now familiar sounds of Ouran High School Host Club and smiles to himself as he lets the background noise wash over him. Falling back into the routine of finishing the questions is much easier than he expects.

When he finally finishes his work, he sets down his pen and forces himself to take a deep breath. The anticipation of finally telling Zuko how he feels is threatening to overwhelm him. 

All he needs to do is clear up the confusion they had at the club. Tell Zuko that he likes him. That he wants to kiss him even when Azula _isn’t_ watching. He hopes that he’s not wildly off base here—but Suki said that Zuko liked him, and Suki was never wrong about these things.

He’s finally plucked up the courage to say something, but when he looks over at Zuko he realizes that he’s fallen asleep. He’s sitting upright, slumped to the side, head slipping off the pile of pillows he’s laying on. His chest rises and falls easily, the sounds of the show continuing on even though its audience is dead to the world.

Sokka sighs, letting the disappointment wash over him. But he knows he can’t fault Zuko for falling asleep while watching his comfort show. The guy is sick. And who knows how long Sokka has been working on this problem? Sokka catches the time on the clock next to Zuko’s bed and his eyes widen. _Too long_ is the correct answer to that question. Way too long. No wonder Zuko fell asleep.

_Okay, then,_ Sokka decides. _Another day. I’ll tell him later. What’s a couple days in the grand scheme of things, really?_

Sokka packs up his stuff as quietly as he can. He shuts Zuko’s laptop and sets it on Zuko’s now-clear desk before it gets knocked onto the floor in his sleep. 

For a second, he debates leaving and letting Zuko rest—he clearly needs it—but ultimately decides against it. Sinking down into the mattress once again, Sokka shakes Zuko gently awake.

“Hey, Zuko,” Sokka whispers. “I’m gonna take off, now.”

Zuko blinks into the sudden light, and as he focuses on Sokka, he starts to smile. “Okay,” he says just as quietly. “Thank you for the soup. That was really… nice of you.”

Sokka grins back. “Of course. No problem.”

As Sokka gets to his feet, hand on the doorknob, Zuko says, “I’m really glad that we met, Sokka.” Sokka is about to reply something along the lines of _me too, Zuko,_ when Zuko continues talking. “I’m happy that we’re friends.”

Sokka’s heart drops. The word rings through his mind mockingly, over and over again.

Friends.

Friends.

_Friends._

Right. Of course Zuko thought of them as friends. As _only_ friends. He made that perfectly clear at the club a few weeks ago.

His face must be doing something weird, because Zuko is sitting up properly now, leaning closer. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, and he has to clear his throat because the word is barely audible. It’s a miracle he’s able to get any words out at all. “I’m fine. I–” Sokka forces himself to grin, but it makes his face feel all weird and too tight. “I’m glad that we’re friends, too.”

Zuko is still looking at him like something isn’t quite right, but at the last sentence, he smiles a bit. “That’s good.”

“Right. Okay. See you Friday.” Sokka turns and hightails it out of there, because for some mortifying reason, he feels like he might cry. He had been so sure. He had been _so sure_ that Zuko felt the same way. Sokka hunches over into himself, grabbing his jacket from the barstool, and leaves the apartment without another word.

When he finally gets down to the lobby, he sees that it’s raining outside.

_Perfect,_ Sokka thinks as he pushes open the door.

The cold slices through him immediately, and his denim jacket is far from waterproof, but Sokka doesn’t stop. He shoves his hands into the pockets and keeps on walking.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s easier after that. Even though Sokka still has a crush on Zuko that’s the size of the damn moon, it’s easier. Because Sokka knows that Zuko just wants to be friends, and that’s fine.

When Momo cuddles up on Zuko’s lap as they work through physics problems together, it’s fine. 

When Zuko grins over his shoulder at Sokka as he stands at the stovetop and cooks dinner for the two of them, it’s fine. 

When Zuko starts staying later and later at Sokka’s apartment because he doesn’t want to go home to his sister, it’s fine.

Because it’s easier. Or at least, it’s easier for Sokka to tell himself that it is.

It’s just that—Zuko is wonderful. He’s quiet, and considerate, and has the driest sense of humour that Sokka has ever seen. Sokka’s not an idiot—he noticed that Greek yogurt became a staple in Zuko’s fridge after he mentioned it, and that Zuko himself never ate it. He remembers that time Zuko asked Aang to ask Katara what his favourite pizza toppings were. Zuko is unbelievably thoughtful. 

And if he would rather be friends, then Sokka is going to damn well be his friend. Be the very best friend Zuko’s ever had.

So when Sokka makes a reference to Indiana Jones, and Zuko offhandedly mentions that he’s never seen a single movie from the series, Sokka seeks to rectify this.

“Not even Raiders of the Lost Ark?” Sokka asks incredulously. “It’s a classic!”

“Sorry?” Zuko says, looking confused. “I never really watched movies as a kid. My father didn’t think it was very productive.”

Sokka gapes over at the other boy. “No movies? _What?_ ”

“It wasn’t _no movies,_ ” Zuko says, slightly defensive. “I did other things for fun. Like, I don’t know, _playing outside_.”

“Okay, but you have a Netflix account,” Sokka tells Zuko. “We watched Netflix together.”

“It’s Aang’s account,” Zuko says. “And TV shows are different. They’re shorter, easier to watch. I don’t know.”

Sokka shakes his head adamantly. “Okay, _no._ We need to fix this immediately.”

“Immediately?” Zuko asks dubiously, looking back down at his notes. “We still have three more problems to get through.”

Sokka looks Zuko dead in the eye and says, “Indiana Jones is more important than physics.”

Now it’s Zuko’s turn to look surprised. “More important than _physics?_ Well, then. I guess I need to watch Indiana Jones. Immediately.”

“Yes, you do,” Sokka says. “But first, we need snacks.”

* * *

Sokka holds the door open for Zuko when they arrive at his favourite corner store. It’s only a block away from his apartment building, so he often makes frequent stops there for milk and eggs if he happens to run out in the middle of the week.

The store is owned by a sweet but crazy old man named Bumi, who lets his ginormous rabbit sit behind the counter with him. Its red eyes are always slightly unnerving, and Sokka doesn’t think he ever imagines how it seems to be frothing at the mouth, but Bumi calls the thing Flopsy, so it can’t be that evil, right?

Zuko startles badly when he catches sight of the rabbit—Sokka tugs him in the opposite direction and sends a friendly wave to Bumi. Bumi waves back, one hand stroking Flopsy’s head lovingly.

“What is that?” Zuko hisses once he deems their distance to be sufficiently far away enough from the front counter.

“Flopsy,” Sokka answers. “The owner’s rabbit.”

“That thing is a _rabbit?_ ” Zuko shakes his head, like he’s decided what he just said doesn’t matter. “There’s no way that’s sanitary.”

“Probably not,” Sokka agrees. “But I don’t come here because of their glowing health inspections. I come here because it’s close. Now… what snacks do you want?”

Zuko casts another distrustful glance towards Bumi and his rabbit before settling back on Sokka. “I don’t know, are there Oreos?”

There are, in fact, Oreos. Sokka also grabs a few bags of chips, a couple sodas from the cooler, and some gummies.

“I have popcorn at home, if you want some,” Sokka says as they bring their haul of goodies to the front.

“Popcorn?” Zuko asks.

Sokka gives Zuko a look. “You’ve had popcorn before, right?” He’s only half-joking.

“Of course I’ve had _popcorn_ before, Sokka,” Zuko says with an eye roll. “I just meant… don’t we have enough?”

“We can never have too many snacks,” Sokka says seriously. He nods to Bumi. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m wonderful, dear boy,” Bumi replies. He starts to scan in their items one by one, his other hand still petting Flopsy. “You two having a nice evening?”

“We sure are,” Sokka replies. Unfortunately, this time, Zuko is quicker with his card than Sokka is with his phone, and Zuko pays before Sokka can even begin to protest. Zuko's response is to smile serenely over at Sokka while Sokka narrows his eyes at him.

Bumi starts to laugh, an odd snorting, hysterical sound. “If your boyfriend wants to pay for your snacks, let him!” he announces, and Sokka looks over at the shop owner, completely thrown.

“Excuse me?” Zuko says, sounding just as confused.

Bumi leans across the counter, one wide eye trained directly on them. “I saw you two boys whispering conspiratorially in my aisles. I know what young love looks like.” He hands them their bag of snacks. “You boys have a nice night, now. Take care!”

Sokka is so astounded by what Bumi said that he doesn’t even notice Flopsy baring his teeth at them as they leave the store. He turns to look back at the door as it closes, then shakes his head and continues on after Zuko.

“What a strange man,” Sokka says, falling into step next to his friend. “Usually he just tries to upsell me some rock candy.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, hands stuffed into his pockets. “Strange.” His shoulders are hunched up around his ears, turned away from Sokka.

 _He must be cold_ , Sokka thinks. Sokka speeds up their pace—he can already see his apartment building up ahead.

Once they’re back in the warmth of Sokka’s apartment, he sets up the movie, makes sure Zuko is equipped with as many snacks as he can carry, and then they both settle into the couch. It’s a terrible couch, and it kind of sags in the middle for reasons unknown, forcing Sokka and Zuko to sit pressed right up against each other, shoulder to shoulder.

“Sorry,” Sokka says. He tries to shift slightly away, but ends up sliding right back next to Zuko.

The pressure against his shoulder increases as Zuko nudges it with his own. “It’s alright,” he says. “Start the movie.”

Sokka does.

The first time Harrison Ford steps out of the shadows and into the light, Sokka has to stop and remember that there’s a cute boy next to him, and to refrain from his usual squealing. Young Harrison Ford really does something to Sokka, something that he’s sure he can keep quiet about for the next two hours.

Even though Sokka knows that the snake scene is coming, he still pushes his face into Zuko’s shoulder and waits for it to be over.

“Uh, Sokka?” Zuko asks, his shoulder stiffening.

“Yeah?” Sokka replies, voice muffled by the sleeve of Zuko’s shirt.

“Whatcha doing down there?”

“Snakes.”

“Snakes?”

“Snakes.”

Zuko still sounds confused when he says, “Alright,” but he relaxes back into the couch, making no move to push Sokka off.

Sokka listens to the dialogue until he knows that the characters have found an alternate route out of the temple, then turns his attention back to the TV. He keeps his head resting on Zuko’s shoulder. He doesn’t mention it, and neither does Zuko.

The movie progresses, and when Indiana and Marion are safe and alone in the boat’s cabin, and she exclaims, “Well, goddamn it, Indy, where _doesn’t_ it hurt?” Sokka realizes what’s about to happen. For some reason, keeping his head on Zuko’s shoulder throughout an entire kissing scene seems a little weird. Slowly, he lifts his head, gently putting some much-needed space between them.

Sokka has barely moved an inch before Zuko is getting to his feet and moving back towards the kitchen. There’s the loud crinkling of chip bags, and Zuko returns with two bowls of chips in hand when Indiana Jones is running from the Germans, the tender moment on screen all but concluded. Zuko hands one bowl to Sokka, keeping the other for himself. 

“We could’ve shared a bowl,” Sokka says quietly.

Zuko shrugs, shaking his head slightly. “It’s okay, it doesn’t really matter,” he says, and Sokka tries not to feel hurt.

Zuko’s bowl stays in his lap, but Sokka can’t help but notice that Zuko doesn’t eat a single chip for the rest of the movie.

As the credits roll, the tension between them has dissipated somewhat, and Sokka turns to Zuko eagerly. “What’d you think?”

“It was…” he meets Sokka’s gaze and starts to smile. “It was pretty good! I liked the soundtrack.”

“Yes,” Sokka groans, draping himself over the arm of the couch, looking at the wall behind him upside down. “John Williams is a _genius._ ”

Before Sokka can ask him more about the film, about what his favourite scene was or his favourite character, the front door to the apartment creaks open and Katara walks in. Sokka and Zuko both turn their heads towards the sound, watching as Katara turns to lock the door behind her before she catches them both looking at her. She freezes.

“Oh,” she says, blinking at the two boys on the couch. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Sokka says.

She must recognize the music from the credits, because that’s the only reason for her over-the-top eye roll. “Seriously, Sokka? Raiders of the Lost Ark? _Again?_ ”

“Oh, I’m sorry, _Katara,_ ” Sokka sniffs. “Do you have something against Raiders of the Lost Ark?”

Katara drops her bag behind the couch, crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t, if you would watch some _other_ movie every once in a while.”

Zuko starts to snicker, and Sokka narrows his eyes at him. “What?” he asks.

“I didn’t know you watched it this often,” Zuko tells him.

“I _don’t_ ,” Sokka maintains. He sends a dirty look over to his sister. “She’s exaggerating.”

“Me?” Katara says with wide eyes. “Exaggerating? _Never._ ”

“Lies,” Sokka announces. “Lies and slander.”

“So when I say that young Harrison Ford was the reason for your bisexual awakening, you’re going to have the audacity to tell me I’m lying?” Katara cocks her hip, staring down at Sokka with a raised eyebrow.

Sokka splutters, “I—Well–”

“Tell me I’m wrong, Sokka.”

The thing is that he _can’t._ Because when he watched this movie for the first time at fourteen years old, he had looked up at Indiana Jones, sweaty and dirty, and thought, _oh._ And Katara _knows_ that _._ Sokka can’t believe his sweet baby sister has turned into such a dirty manipulator.

Katara smirks, because she knows that she’s won. Surprisingly, instead of gloating, she turns to Zuko. “What prompted a middle of the week movie night?”

“Um.” Zuko clears his throat, looking between Sokka and Katara with an expression that seems sort of stunned. Sokka can’t think of a single reason why he would look like that. Finally, Zuko answers, “I’ve never watched it before.”

“Well, you and Sokka have been friends for, what? A month and a half, now?” She purses her lips, looking thoughtful. “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

“He doesn’t watch movies, Katara!” Sokka intervenes. He drops his voice to a low whisper. “He hasn’t even seen The Princess Diaries.”

“What?” Katara gapes down at Zuko. She sounds unbelievably wounded, and Sokka knows she’s on his side now. “Not even The Princess Diaries?”

Zuko shrugs like he’s never heard of The Princess Diaries in his life.

Katara squeezes in between the two boys on the couch, crossing her legs and taking the untouched chip bowl out of Zuko’s lap.

She looks between the two boys when they just stare at her confusedly.

“Um,” Sokka says. “What?” He’s both relieved and irritated at being separated from Zuko, unsure whether to hug his sister or tell her to get lost.

“Hello?” Katara asks with raised eyebrows. “The Princess Diaries. _Now._ ”

Of course she’d want to watch the movie _right now._ Sokka tries and most definitely fails to hide his growing smile. He flicks his gaze over to Zuko. “Is that alright with you? If you need to get home…”

“No, I’m good,” Zuko says with a tiny grin. “Let’s watch.”

* * *

Thus begins Sokka introducing Zuko to all the movies he deems necessary, titles of which include Legally Blonde, Miss Congeniality, and the Devil Wears Prada. Sokka continues to tutor Zuko three times a week, except now they’ll watch a movie when they’re done. Sometimes Katara will join them, adding her own suggestions to their compiled list of Must-Watch Movies.

With Zuko spending so much time at Sokka and Katara’s apartment, Aang starts to show up more regularly, choosing to stay for their movie nights more often than not. During the week, they’ll usually stay for dinner and then head home, but on Fridays they stay later. Last Friday, they ended up staying until two in the morning, purely by accident.

Sokka had offered for them to stay if Zuko didn’t feel up to driving, but they declined, bundling up in their winter coats. Aang kissed Katara goodnight, and Sokka pretended like he hadn’t wanted to do the same with Zuko before the door closed behind them.

It looks like this Friday is shaping up to be much like the week before—it’s almost midnight, and Aang and Zuko have made no moves to go home, not that Sokka is complaining. He not-so-secretly loves that Zuko is spending more time at his place, that he seems to actually like the movies that Sokka picks out. The first time Zuko quoted Miranda Priestly’s iconic line _you think this has nothing to do with you_ when he got a physics problem wrong, Sokka just about _died_.

Sokka is sitting on the couch, Katara wedged between his knees below so Sokka can braid her hair. Zuko is next to him and Aang splayed on the floor, head propped up on his hands while his feet sway in the air. They’re watching the fourth Indiana Jones movie, much to Katara’s dismay, but she still sat down with the rest of them when Sokka turned it on.

Sokka’s phone vibrates on the arm of the couch next to him, and he looks over as the screen lights up.

“Oh my god!” he exclaims as he sees the reminder he set for himself back in the summer. “Katara! It’s Leonid night!”

Aang rolls over, propping his head up with one fist. “Leo-what-now?”

“Leonids!” Sokka repeats. In his excitement, he accidentally pulls too hard on a strand of Katara’s hair.

“ _Ow,_ ” Katara says pointedly, pinching Sokka’s ankle in retaliation.

“Sorry, Kit-Kat,” Sokka apologizes breezily, patting her on the head before focusing his attention back on the braid. He gets an elbow to the shin for his trouble, but when he taps Katara on the shoulder for an elastic to tie it off, she dutifully hands him one. Once the braid is finally secured, he reaches over to pause the movie.

“Hey, it was just getting good!” Katara complains.

“Bold words for someone who didn’t even want to watch the movie,” Sokka replies, and Katara sends him an icy glare from over her shoulder. “Anyways,” Sokka continues, turning to Aang. “The Leonids are a meteor shower, and the peak is tonight, from midnight to three! Let’s go watch!”

“Sokka, it’s the end of November,” Katara says. “It’s cold outside. Thanks for the invitation, but I’m staying right here where it’s warm.”

Sokka pouts. “ _Katara._ ”

She doesn’t even bother turning around to see Sokka’s puppy dog eyes.

Sokka turns to Aang, but he gives him an apologetic look and a shrug. “Sorry, Sokka. I kinda want to finish the movie.”

“You just want to stay with Katara,” Sokka tells him with narrowed eyes.

Aang grins unashamedly. “That too.”

“Ugh, you’re no help,” Sokka says, waving a dismissive hand at him. He finally turns to Zuko, who’s looking at him with amusement plain on his face. Sokka turns the puppy dog eyes back on, sticking out his bottom lip. “Please?”

Sokka doesn’t expect Zuko to immediately reply, “Okay,” but that’s exactly what happens.

For a moment, Sokka can only stare. But then his brain processes that Zuko actually agreed to go spend three hours with him in the dead of night to look at the sky, and he says, “Wait, really?”

Zuko shrugs and says, “Yeah, why not?”

“I mean,” Sokka begins. “There’s a lot of reasons, probably, but you already said yes, so no take backs!”

Sokka grabs a spare blanket from the hall closet and is already shrugging on his winter coat before he looks back at Zuko expectantly.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

* * *

Sokka leads the way to the rooftop of his building. The door at the top of the last flight of stairs has a red and white sticker on it claiming the door is connected to an alarm, but Sokka knows for a fact that it’s not. He’s been on the roof too many times to know. He pushes the door open.

“Sokka!” Zuko exclaims, then freezes, waiting for the blaring alarm.

Sokka stands in the open door, a cold breeze wafting into the building and down the stairs, looking back at Zuko with an expression that says _I told you so_. They wait for a moment, mainly to prove to Zuko that no alarm will sound, then Sokka pushes forward.

There is a light dusting of snow along the flooring of the roof, and Zuko hesitantly follows Sokka up and out of the warmth of the building. The door thunks closed heavily behind them.

Sokka is already across the space, brushing a large patch of snow off the ledge of the roof and sending it down onto the snowbanks five stories below. He looks over to Zuko, who is still hovering near the door.

“Are we allowed up here?” Zuko asks.

“Probably not,” Sokka replies with a shrug, wholly unbothered by this potentially prohibited activity. “It’s never stopped me before, though.” He brushes the last of the snow off the ledge, then pats the surface invitingly.

Zuko finally follows after Sokka, climbing up onto the ledge and mirroring Sokka’s pose, legs dangling off the edge. The concrete is cold even through where he’s sitting on the edge of his jacket. 

“You come here often?” Zuko asks.

Sokka snorts, his body shaking until the laughs burst out of him. Zuko looks at him confusedly, probably wondering what he could’ve said that would elicit that kind of reaction. Sokka watches as his expression morphs into one of understanding, and the sheer horror in his eyes is astounding.

Zuko sputters out, “Wait, _no,_ that’s not what I meant–”

Sokka waves a hand, his chuckles slowly subsiding. “I know, I know. It was just–” He sobers quickly, looking away as his tone becomes more serious. “I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

“You, uh.” Zuko clears his throat. “You made it sound like you come up here a lot. That’s all.”

“Well, not _that_ often,” Sokka says. “Especially not now, when it’s practically winter already.” He clutches the blanket he brought tighter to his chest, then belatedly remembers that he has a blanket that he should most definitely use—it’s not getting any warmer up here. He unfolds the knitted material, taking one edge and wrapping it around Zuko’s shoulders, pulling the opposite side around his own body.

Zuko scoots a little closer to Sokka on the ledge, close enough that their thighs touch and Sokka’s shoulder slots in behind Zuko’s comfortably. Sokka forces his pleased grin back down, taking a deep breath and telling himself that the blanket fits easier around their broad shoulders with less space between them. That’s the only reason they’re so close together. 

That, and it’s really cold out here. Sokka should have brought a hat, but there’s no way he’s leaving his and Zuko’s cocoon. Not _now_ , when Sokka is actually feeling warmer just by having Zuko pressed up against him. 

“I come up here to draw,” Sokka manages after a few moments of silence. “It’s beautiful up here. Not that you’d know it,” he huffs, gesturing to the dark streets below. Everything around them is quiet and muffled under the cloak of night. The sparse streetlights below give off just enough light that Sokka can make out the way Zuko’s lips part as he exhales softly, his breath visible in the cold air.

“I didn’t know you drew that often,” Zuko whispers, as if he doesn’t want to ruin the hushed atmosphere.

Sokka smirks, turning to Zuko slightly before realizing _exactly_ how close their faces are right now. He’d barely have to move to cover Zuko’s mouth with his own in a gentle kiss. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says instead. He forces his gaze elsewhere, because if he looks too hard at Zuko, he’s going to do something stupid, like kiss the guy silly.

Humming, Zuko snuggles deeper into the blanket and as a result, closer to Sokka. He tilts his chin up to look at the stars, and Sokka finally remembers that’s the whole reason they’re up here—to watch for the Leonid meteor shower. It’s amazing how quickly his thoughts have been derailed just from Zuko being near him. 

“Tell me, then,” Zuko says.

“Huh?” Sokka asks.

“You know a lot about me—tell me more about you.”

“Oh.” Sokka fiddles with the edge of the blanket. “What do you want to know?”

He’s expecting a hard-hitting question, something that parallels what Zuko has shared with him over the weeks they’ve known each other. Instead, Zuko opens his mouth and asks, “Where’d you get this knitted blanket?”

It’s random enough to startle a laugh out of Sokka. “ _That’s_ what you want to know?”

“It looks handmade,” Zuko says. “Did you make this yourself?”

Sokka smiles down at the blue and white knitting, even though he can barely distinguish the colours in the darkness surrounding them, thumbing the intricate loops. “Gran Gran made it for me when I moved down here a couple of years back. Told me to keep warm. It stayed on my bed for a year and a half before I finally just gave in and bought a comforter and duvet. Now I keep it in the hall closet. Next question.”

Zuko nods, absorbing that information, keeping his gaze on the sky. “How’d you hear about the Leonids?”

“Katara, actually,” Sokka replies. “But then she realized that they came at the end of November, and that you can only see them in the middle of the night, so.” Sokka nudges Zuko with his elbow. “Who needs her, anyway, with you here,” he jokes.

Zuko doesn’t reply right away, and Sokka begins to think that maybe he pushed too far and made Zuko uncomfortable. But then Zuko asks, “What do you like to draw?” He doesn’t sound upset, so Sokka figures that maybe he’s thinking too much into things.

“People, mostly,” Sokka begins. “Landscapes. Sometimes animals. I took a mechanical engineering class in my first year and I loved drawing diagrams for that, so, I’m not picky. I actually drew Appa the other day as a memory exercise! I’ll have to show you. ”

“Yeah, you’ll have to show me,” Zuko says, and Sokka can hear the smile in his voice. “Where did you learn to braid hair?”

Sokka feels his own grin drop immediately, and he looks down and away.

“Sorry,” Zuko says as he looks over, clearly noticing how Sokka’s face fell. His gloved hand wraps around Sokka’s wrist. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s–” Sokka has to stop talking and start again—his voice comes out too hoarse. “It’s fine. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Sokka, seriously, don’t tell me if–”

Sokka cuts Zuko off, because he wants to tell Zuko. He does. It’s just hard to talk about. “I taught myself how to braid hair.”

Zuko sort of deflates at that, an air of confusion surrounding him. He was probably expecting something much worse. But Sokka isn’t finished.

With a deep breath, he begins. “My mom died when I was ten. Cancer. I taught myself how to braid hair because Katara asked me to do her hair once for school, and mom had always been the one to do her braids. So I…” he shrugs. “I learned.”

“Oh,” Zuko says softly. “Sokka, I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Sokka says. “Really, it is. It was a long time ago, now.” And it _was_ —he no longer feels the bone-deep grief he once did when he thinks of his mom. But he likes to talk about the happy memories that are associated with her, not the sad ones, like him having to learn how to braid Katara’s hair while fighting back tears. Sokka lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, almost hoping that Zuko will drop the subject.

“That doesn’t diminish what you went through,” Zuko replies.

“What,” Sokka begins wryly. “Are you saying that time doesn’t heal all wounds?”

“Time _doesn’t_ heal all wounds,” Zuko says, his tone surprisingly forceful. Suddenly, Sokka remembers the scar that traces Zuko’s cheekbone, a white raised line that Sokka has stopped noticing because it’s just another part of him, now. It makes him _Zuko_. 

“Sorry,” Sokka says softly.

Zuko shakes his head, and the tips of his hair swish along the material of Sokka’s winter jacket. “No, don’t be. It’s nothing,” he replies.

“Alright.” Sokka drops it, even though he’s pretty sure it’s not nothing. But if Zuko doesn’t want to talk about it, Sokka isn’t going to force him. “Ask me another question then.”

It’s quiet between them for a long time, long enough that Sokka thinks that Zuko isn’t going to ask a question after all. The only sounds between them are their quiet breaths, the blowing wind, and the occasional car that drives past, far below.

“Can you braid my hair?”

It’s been silent between them for so long that Sokka almost thinks he imagined Zuko’s words. But when he looks over, Zuko’s dark eyes are earnest as they look back at him, shining in the pale light.

“Really?” Sokka asks.

Zuko almost always wears his hair down. The only time Sokka’s ever seen him with his hair up was when they went rock climbing together, and it had stunned Sokka so much that he had forgotten to climb up alongside Zuko. Suki had seen the whole thing happen from across the gym, then laughed about it for five minutes straight when they had lunch together at the Jasmine Dragon.

“Only if you want to,” Zuko replies, and Sokka quickly has to shake the mental image of Zuko’s hair pulled away from his face, short tendrils curling loose around his cheekbones. If he does this, there’s no coming back from it.

But Sokka’s brain kind of short circuits and stops working properly when he’s around Zuko, so he’s already pulling off his gloves and stuffing them in his coat pockets. “Sure,” he finds himself saying. “Turn around.” 

Agreeing to braid someone’s hair in negative temperatures is probably one of the more stupid things he’s done over the years, but it’s _Zuko._ What is Sokka supposed to do? Say _no?_ Yeah, right.

Zuko does turn around, shifting slowly so one leg is propped in front of him on the ledge, the other still dangling in the open air. Sokka follows suit, letting the blanket drop to rest around their waists. He notices the change in temperature immediately, but if Zuko wants his hair braided, then Zuko is going to get his hair braided.

Sokka begins to comb his fingers through Zuko’s hair, bringing it all to rest against his back. It’s kind of crazy how long Zuko’s hair is. Even though it’s down all the time, Sokka has never really noticed its length. It’s well past his shoulders, ruffling in the slight breeze below his shoulder blades.

His fingers falter when Zuko starts to talk, but he quickly recovers, separating the top half of his hair into three sections.

“My mother died when I was eleven,” Zuko says.

“Zuko…” Sokka says quietly. He wants to set his arms down, maybe wrap himself around Zuko, pull him close against his own chest, but he forces himself to keep braiding Zuko’s hair. He thinks this is probably why Zuko has decided to tell him now, when he doesn’t have to look Sokka in the eye while he says the words. Sokka knows firsthand that seeing the look of pity on other people’s faces is certifiably the worst.

“Just… let me say this, okay?” Zuko’s voice is barely audible.

Sokka nods, even though Zuko can’t see it. “Okay,” he agrees.

“My mother died when I was eleven. That’s when we left Japan. That’s when my dad started to go crazy. Don’t get me wrong, he was always crazy. But when she died… it got worse.”

Zuko’s shoulders rise and fall as he inhales and exhales heavily.

“My father has this fear of people perceiving him as weak. And by extension, people perceiving his _children_ as weak. He thinks that anything we do reflects back onto him. That’s why I need such high grades. It’s why he can’t know that you’re tutoring me. He’d see it as a weakness, a flaw. And he can’t lose face.”

Sokka knows all of this already, of course, but he supposes that Zuko isn’t saying this for no reason, so he listens to Zuko talk.

Zuko seems to switch tracks entirely. “Have you ever wondered how I got this scar?” He doesn’t make any move to indicate the scar, but he doesn’t have to. Sokka knows exactly what Zuko is talking about. And he has a sinking feeling in his stomach like he knows where this conversation is going. “People ask, everyone wonders. It’s only natural.”

Sokka wants to reiterate that Zuko doesn’t have to tell him if he doesn’t want to, but he promised Zuko he wouldn’t interrupt. He stays silent, focusing on weaving Zuko’s hair into a French braid.

“At first, it was little things. He would slam doors. Yell at Azula and I to stay out of his office. Rip up my report card right in front of me because I only got an A and Azula had gotten an A+. He sent me to military camp. He only showed up to Azula’s _kendo_ meets instead of mine. She’d always been better than me. But eventually… he stopped showing up to hers, too.”

His tone is near expressionless, monotone and dull. It’s the voice of someone who has lived through too much, someone who refuses to relive it again through his own words.

“For two years, it was like that. But one day… I overheard him discussing a business strategy, one that involved laying off thousands of government employees, all to make a quick profit. All I wanted was to ask him if Aang could come over to play. I was so excited, I had finished all my homework right away, and had practiced my _kendo_ drills. There was no reason for him to say no. But then I heard him saying all that stuff, and… something came over me. I burst into the room, yelling about how he couldn’t do such a thing, how it was heartless and cruel.”

Zuko tilts his head down at that, and Sokka can’t tell if it’s because his emotions are finally starting to catch up to him, or if it’s because Sokka has reached the base of Zuko’s scalp, and only has the tail of the braid left to finish. Having Zuko’s head tilted like that is actually really helpful. He hums in what he hopes is gentle encouragement, letting Zuko know that he’s listening attentively to whatever Zuko wants to tell him.

“You know, the punishment wasn’t immediate. I had gone back to my room to work further ahead in my notes, and he came up an hour later. No warning whatsoever, just pure rage, screaming at a thirteen-year-old child about how I was a coward, and hadn’t learned anything from him.” Zuko sighs shakily. “He must have at least felt a little regret, because he called an ambulance. I had to get three stitches. He was wearing a ring.”

Sokka’s chest starts to ache. His fingers have gone completely numb with the cold, but he barely notices. Sokka suspected that Zuko’s father had given him that scar, but he had no idea the abuse went so far back. That Zuko had been _branded_ all because he stood up against people being fired for no reason. 

Sokka can’t even begin to imagine what that was like for Zuko, what it was like to grow up in that home, to look his father in the eye even after he had done something so despicable to him. It makes Sokka’s stomach curdle.

And now, even after Zuko and Azula have moved out from under Ozai’s careful eye, Ozai is still keeping watch over them, whether that be with spies or with surveillance cameras. And all to make sure his children’s actions don’t reflect badly on him? Sokka shakes his head to himself. That’s fucked up.

“My uncle stepped in,” Zuko begins again, and Sokka focuses back on his words. “He tried to help, tried to take Azula and I away from him, tried to declare him an unfit parent. My father had him extradited to Canada. Iroh hadn’t even done anything illegal here.” Zuko shrugs, letting out a humourless laugh. 

“Didn’t matter. My father is too powerful. He can’t be fought back against, so I’ve given up. It’s better just to follow along with what he wants than to fight back. As long as I do what he wants… he usually stays out of my life. And that’s exactly how I want it.”

God, Zuko sounds so hopeless, so bleak. Sokka can’t help himself from asking, “Where’s your uncle? You’re in the same country, now. Maybe you could–”

“No,” Zuko interrupts, in a tone that brooks no arguments. “I know where he is. But the last time I saw him… we didn’t leave each other on good terms. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.”

Sokka wants to protest, but he knows that’s not what Zuko needs right now.

“Anyways,” Zuko says with a heavy sigh. “Long story short, my father is an abusive asshole. It’s nice to talk about it while you’re braiding my hair. If only my father could see us now. He’d have an aneurysm.”

Sokka huffs a small laugh, but now that he’s at the end of the braid, he realizes he doesn’t have any ties to finish it off. Well, _shit._ He can’t let the braid unravel now that Zuko’s told him _that._

Sokka hasn’t washed his hair since yesterday morning, so he’s probably going to regret this, but he reaches up to tug his hair out of the wolf tail, letting it fall to rest against the sides of his face. He takes the elastic that was in his own hair and ties it around the end of the braid, finally letting it drop to rest between Zuko’s shoulder blades.

Zuko’s hand comes up to touch his hair along the back of his head, taking the tail of the braid and bringing it to rest over his shoulder. “This is a nice _fuck you_ to the guy,” Zuko says with a wide grin as he looks up at the sky, earlier somberness all but gone. “I’m sure the braid is beautiful.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Sokka snorts. “I can’t see shit up here.”

Zuko starts to laugh too, but it fades quickly. Slowly, they shift back to how they were sitting before, and as Zuko turns to look back at Sokka, he freezes.

Sokka stares back at him with wide eyes, automatically stilling. “What is it?”

“Your hair,” Zuko blinks.

“Oh,” Sokka says with a slight laugh, raking his fingers through the short strands. He cringes inwardly at how bad it must look, hoping that Zuko can’t see it too well in the dark surrounding them. “I didn’t have an extra hair tie, so I used mine.”

“You…” Zuko’s gaze shifts down to the braid, touching the elastic wrapped at the end of it. “Gave me your hair tie.”

“Yeah,” Sokka says. “You can keep it, if you want.”

“Okay,” Zuko says quietly, still looking at the hair tie.

Sokka gives him a weird look, but Zuko doesn’t see it, so he decides it doesn’t matter. He takes the blanket that’s fallen down to rest against the ledge and tugs it back around the two of them, tucking him and Zuko back into their warm cocoon.

“Thanks for telling me,” Sokka says into the gloom of night. “I’m glad that I could be here for whatever you wanted to say.”

“Thanks for listening,” Zuko replies. “And for the braid. And the hair tie. Sorry for kind of… hijacking what was supposed to be me asking about you.”

“You can still ask about me,” Sokka tells him earnestly. “You didn’t hijack anything. Ask away.”

Sokka can just see the edge of Zuko’s tiny grin, now that his hair isn’t blocking the side of his face like it usually is.

 _He’s so goddamn beautiful_ , Sokka thinks. _I could get used to this_.

Even as he thinks it, Zuko’s head lists sideways to rest against Sokka’s shoulder, and Sokka hopes that Zuko can’t feel or hear the way his heartbeat is jumping out of his chest now that he’s pressed so close. After a moment of keeping completely still, he decides, _fuck it._ Gently, Sokka tilts his head so his cheek rests against the top of Zuko’s head.

Zuko takes a breath like he’s about to say something or maybe ask a question, but he cuts himself off, pointing a finger up at the night sky. “Was that a Leonid?” he asks in excitement.

Sokka peers up at the stars, and they both wait with bated breath for something to prove Zuko either right or–

There it is. A white line streaks across the sky, fading in and out in the span of a few seconds. Another one follows directly after, racing in a completely different direction. It’s… It’s breathtaking, is what it is. The display isn’t as huge and flashy as what Sokka was expecting, but it’s still beautiful, nonetheless.

The meteors flash across the sky, weaving throughout the stars, an ethereal backdrop to the stunning light show that’s seemingly been put on just for the two of them. It feels like they’re the only two people in the world awake right now, and the thought is surprisingly intimate. 

Once the meteors start, neither boy wants to go back inside and potentially miss a second of the shower, so they stay. They stay until the eastern sky is lightening with impending dawn, until they can barely even see the stars anymore.

Sokka almost wants to wait until the sunrise, but he’s _tired._ Usually when he pulls all-nighters, he does so with three Red Bulls and the motivation to finish whatever project he’s been procrastinating on before the deadline. This time, he’s had nothing except Zuko beside him to keep him awake. He’s surprised neither of them have fallen asleep, considering they’ve been slumped against each other for the past two hours.

They don’t even really discuss it as they slowly shift away from one another. Sokka folds up the blanket as Zuko swings his legs over the ledge and back down to the roof. Sokka climbs down after him, stumbling slightly as he suddenly rights himself after sitting for so long. Zuko grabs his arm to keep him from tripping over, and then they’re looking up at each other, chest to chest, a breath’s width apart. They’re close enough that Sokka can see lighter flecks in Zuko’s dark eyes, the devastating spread of his eyelashes, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

For a moment, Sokka thinks that Zuko might kiss him.

For a moment, he thinks _he_ might kiss _Zuko._

But then a crow squawks from somewhere nearby, and the moment shatters around them. Zuko releases his arm and steps away, looking down. Sokka swallows thickly.

To fill the silence, Sokka blurts out, “Thanks for coming up here with me. It was…” – _amazing, wonderful, tender, romantic_ – “…fun.” Fun is fitting for friends, right? 

“Yeah, I.” Zuko still doesn’t look up, scuffing the toe of his shoe into the fine layer of snow. “I had a good time.”

Sokka internally groans. Why does it sound like they were just on a date and neither of them know how to ask the other for a goodnight kiss? They’re _friends._ Just friends. Sokka needs to get that through his thick skull.

“Time to go pass out now, I think,” Sokka says as he leads Zuko back down into the warm apartment building, trying to be quiet as they make their way down the stairs.

“Sleep,” Zuko hums dreamily, closing his eyes like he could fall asleep right there in the stairwell. “Hopefully Aang had a nap so I can sleep in the car.”

“You can always crash here, you know,” Sokka says quietly.

“I know,” Zuko replies with a tired smile. “Thanks.”

By then, they’ve made it back to his apartment door, so Sokka fishes out his key and lets them both in. Aang and Katara are passed out on the couch together, and Sokka is kind of impressed that neither of them has slid onto the floor by now. The TV is still on, having reset back to the Netflix home screen, so Sokka takes the remote from the end table and turns it off. When he turns back, he sees Zuko standing over the two sleeping bodies, looking conflicted.

“Maybe we should let them sleep,” Sokka suggests.

Slowly, Zuko nods his agreement. “They look so peaceful.”

“Come on,” Sokka says. He stops in the hallway to deposit the blanket back in the closet, then opens his bedroom door. “You can have my room. I’ll sleep in Katara’s.”

“No,” Zuko protests. “You should get to sleep in your own bed, Sokka.”

Sokka is so sleep deprived, he’s unwilling to argue. “Well, you can’t sleep in Katara’s bed. That’s weird.”

“Well…” Zuko looks resignedly to the floor next to Sokka’s bed. Sokka groans. He’s not going to let Zuko sleep on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed right in front of them.

Sokka flops onto his mattress, grabbing one of his pillows and pulling it underneath his head. He’s so close to sleep, but he manages to crack open one eye, looking over to Zuko who’s still frozen in the doorway. “Are you coming, or what? The bed’s big enough.” It’s not as big as Zuko’s, not by a long shot, but Sokka can’t be bothered to care at the moment. He just wants to sleep.

Right before he slips under, he feels the other side of the bed dip with Zuko’s weight, the soft brush of fingers against his forehead, the tickle of his hair as it’s pushed to the side, off his face.

He thinks he hears Zuko say, “Goodnight, Sokka,” but he can’t be sure. His eyes close and everything fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tin did some absolutely BEAUTIFUL artwork for this chapter, please go check it out! You can find it [here](https://azu1as.tumblr.com/post/634093843319586816/zuko-grabs-his-arm-to-keep-him-from-tripping)!


	9. Chapter 9

Zuko wakes up to an unfamiliar room. He can tell without even opening his eyes, because it’s _bright_. Zuko’s room in the morning is _never_ bright—he owns blackout curtains for a reason. That reason being to maximize every minute of sleep possible. Sokka clearly doesn’t value beauty sleep as much as Zuko.

Wait a minute— _Sokka._

Zuko’s eyes fly open, immediately zeroing in on the boy next to him in bed. Holy shit. He’d slept next to Sokka last night, and for a full—Zuko casts a glance around the room until he finds a clock on the bedside table—eight hours, too. It’s almost noon.

Zuko sighs. So much for being productive this Saturday.

But… Zuko looks back at Sokka, who’s still fast asleep on the other side of the bed. He’s on his stomach, leg hitched up, arms clutching the pillow close to his face. He’s the loveliest thing Zuko’s seen in a very long time, and he just can’t bring himself to regret their late night together.

Despite the cold, and the heavy subject matter, their time on the roof had been something beautiful, something amazing. Zuko’s spent a lot of time alone with Sokka—a hazard of being tutored by the guy, not that Zuko’s complaining—but the night they spent staring up at the stars together is going to stay with him until the day he dies. It had been like something out of one of those movies that Sokka liked to make him watch, the ones that always had a happy ending. Of course, this hadn’t been an ending—if anything, it felt more like a beginning. 

Sokka’s back hitches with a faint snore before he settles back into the mattress, snuffling slightly. Zuko can’t stop the soft smile that stretches across his face as he looks over at the other boy. In the golden afternoon light, Sokka looks almost ethereal, warm brown skin against dark blue sheets. He’s _beautiful_. 

Zuko wishes he had the privilege to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, but in the end, he settles for reaching out a hand to brush Sokka’s hair out of his face like he had done before they fell asleep. Sokka hums, almost in thanks, but he doesn’t wake.

Zuko spends way longer than he would like to admit laying on his side and watching Sokka sleep. But then he starts to smell the telltale signs of a meal being cooked, and his stomach starts to grumble loud enough that he fears it might wake Sokka up. He gingerly climbs out of Sokka’s bed, ducking into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Zuko hears from behind him, and he freezes. Aang sounds unbearably smug.

Zuko sets his shoulders back, takes a deep breath, then spins around to face his friend. It’s not like this is a walk of shame, so why does he feel so embarrassed?

“Morning,” Zuko says.

Katara and Aang are both in the kitchen. Katara is facing away, pushing what looks like eggs and bacon around on two separate pans while Aang leans on the counter behind her. Zuko was right—Aang looks extremely smug.

Zuko gives him a look that says, _If you say even one word about last night…_

Aang lifts a single eyebrow. _What are you gonna do about it?_

_You don’t want to know._

Aang rolls his eyes, but mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key. _Later,_ he mouths, and Zuko nods reluctantly.

Katara turns around when the silent communication has thankfully concluded, and Zuko hopes his expression has returned to something more neutral.

Zuko is almost expecting Katara to say something suggestive about Zuko emerging from Sokka’s room, but she only says, “Hope you don’t mind eggs for lunch.”

“Not at all,” Zuko replies.

“Perfect,” Katara says with a grin. “Because it’s ready.”

Aang helps her separate the food onto four different plates, taking the plate without bacon for himself and handing off another to Zuko. Katara grabs a plate for herself before settling at the tiny dining table. Aang takes the chair across from her, leaving Zuko to sit on the couch. He sits in such a way where he can still see Aang and Katara over the back of it.

“Sokka still asleep?” Katara asks.

Zuko nods, mouth full.

“That won’t last very long,” she snorts. “The smell of bacon always draws him out one way or another.”

As if on cue, the door to Sokka’s room flies open, and Sokka stumbles out. He hasn’t bothered to change out of his rumpled clothes, choosing instead to prioritize the food Katara left for him in the kitchen.

Sokka groans out, “Katara, I love you so, _so_ much.” As he passes her, he reaches out with both hands, pressing a noisy kiss to the top of her head.

“Sokka!” Katara protests, shrinking back and pushing his face away. Sokka is already skipping away, picking up the plate from the counter.

“Bacon,” Sokka sighs dreamily as he sinks into the couch next to Zuko. The weight on the opposite side of the cushions immediately forces Zuko to slide right up next to Sokka, until they’re both sitting in the middle, thighs pressed right up against each other.

Zuko is half-tempted to make a comment about Sokka needing to buy a new couch, but he’s actually enjoying how close they’re sitting. In any case, Sokka doesn’t seem to mind, not when he’s so focused on shovelling eggs into his mouth like he’s in a competition.

Sokka still seems pretty tired as he makes himself comfortable next to Zuko, eyes bleary. He reaches up to rub one eye with a knuckle, leaning further into Zuko.

“You gonna eat that?” Sokka asks, pointing at Zuko’s remaining slice of bacon.

Zuko _was_ going to eat that, but he’s happy to offer it up to Sokka. He shakes his head, holding the plate closer to Sokka’s fingers, not that he has to move it very far. “No, go ahead.”

Sokka hums, “Thanks, babe,” and quickly liberates Zuko’s plate of the bacon strip.

Zuko’s heart just about _stops_ , looking over to Sokka with wide eyes. Sokka returns to his own food like he didn’t just say that, like he didn’t just call Zuko _babe._ With a furtive glance over his shoulder, he thankfully notes that Katara and Aang didn’t hear Sokka’s quiet murmur, too caught up in their own conversation.

Sokka calling Zuko _babe_ wasn’t like when Sokka had done the same at Allez Up to maintain their fake boyfriend cover. No one is around to hear him say it except Zuko. And Zuko doesn’t know what to do about it, because it doesn’t seem that Sokka even noticed that he said it.

Zuko tries to calm his racing heart by telling himself that Sokka must be getting used to pretending to be his boyfriend. He did it at the club, he did it at the rock climbing gym, and he’s doing it now. When he has no one to pretend with other than Zuko himself.

That’s fine. Yeah, that’s fine. Zuko’s _fine_.

Sokka pays absolutely no mind to Zuko’s inner turmoil, even going so far as to give him a small smile, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Zuko grins back, completely helpless.

“Did you two have a nice night?” Katara asks.

Sokka is the one who replies. “We had a lovely night, Katara, thank you for asking.”

“Did you actually see the Leonids or did you eventually give up?”

“Oh, we saw them, alright,” Sokka answers.

“They were beautiful,” Zuko adds. He meets Sokka’s gaze and repeats, “Really beautiful.” 

Zuko holds his breath as he awaits Sokka’s reaction, and is rewarded with a smile, one that’s all soft around the edges. “They were,” Sokka says, and it sounds like he’s speaking directly to Zuko’s heart. 

“Well, I’m glad you two had fun!” Aang exclaims. “We tried to stay up for you guys, but we eventually passed out. I’m surprised you stayed out for as long as you did. It was so cold.”

“Wasn’t too bad,” Sokka shrugs, picking up the last of his eggs with his fork.

“We had that blanket,” Zuko says.

Aang’s interest is piqued by Zuko’s comment, leaning closer to the two boys. “Did you? How interesting.”

Zuko narrows his eyes at Aang, a silent threat to back off. “Very interesting,” he says.

Aang leans away, narrowing his eyes right back. “I think Zuko and I need to get home.”

Katara looks up. “So soon?”

“Yeah,” Aang says, taking his and Katara’s empty plates to the kitchen sink. “I need to let Appa out and Zuko needs to help me. I’m sure Azula might be wondering where we are.”

As far as excuses go, it’s a pretty flimsy one. But Katara shrugs and says, “Alright.”

Katara cooked, so Aang gets started on cleaning their used dishes and pans. Zuko grudgingly helps, not because he doesn’t want to wash the dishes, but because every plate Aang hands him to dry is another plate closer to Aang’s inevitable interrogation.

As soon as Zuko is behind the wheel of his car, Aang turns to him expectantly. Zuko ignores him for as long as he can, buckling himself in and pulling away from the curb.

It’s not until they hit the main road when Aang finally blurts out, “Did you two _sleep together_ last night?”

“No!” Zuko denies, cheeks warming. “I mean—We–”

“You did!” Aang crows. “Who knew that stargazing would finally push you two over the edge? If Katara and I knew that would do it, we would’ve tried that _weeks_ ago.”

“What are you talking about?” Zuko asks. “Aang, we _didn’t_ sleep together. We slept in the same bed, but we didn’t _sleep_ together.”

Aang watches him for a moment. “Wait, so you didn’t–”

“ _No,_ ” Zuko stresses. “We’re just friends.”

Aang snorts. “Yeah, right.”

Zuko cuts a sharp glance over to his friend in the passenger seat before returning his gaze to the road. “What does _that_ mean?”

“Okay, well, _yeah,_ you two are friends. But… Zuko, you would have to be _blind_ not to realize that Sokka is halfway in love with you.”

“Halfway in lo–” Zuko can’t even finish the sentence, because the notion that Sokka could even be _close_ to being in love with Zuko is laughable. Sokka doesn’t think about him that way. He doesn’t. Right?

When Zuko looks over at Aang again, his expression is serious, eyes sad. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Zuko shakes his head. “He doesn’t like me like that, Aang,” he says, suddenly very tired. Zuko goes to drag a hand through his hair only to remember that it’s pulled back into a braid. He drops his hand back to his lap. “He never has.”

Zuko can feel Aang’s eyes boring into the side of his face, but he refuses to look over and see the pity there. Just because Aang views the world with rose-coloured glasses doesn’t mean everyone else does, and Aang needs to understand that.

“Sure,” Aang says at last. “He’s just a guy who tutors you three times a week. Who you opened up to about your family, like, a _week_ after knowing him. Who protected you and agreed to be your boyfriend when Azula showed up. Who started watching all his favourite movies with you when he realized you didn’t watch a lot of movies growing up. Who you stargazed at three in the morning with at the end of November. Who braided your hair.”

“That’s what friends do, Aang.”

“I’ve sure as shit never pretended to be your boyfriend.”

Zuko rolls his eyes and doesn't respond.

With a deep, unimpressed sigh that seems to last a century, Aang finally backs off. “Okay, Zuko. You win. You guys are just friends.”

“Exactly,” Zuko says, his hand tight on the steering wheel. “Thank you.”

Aang sighs again, turning his head to look out the window at the passing landscape around him. “You know I love you, Zuko,” he says. “But sometimes it’s like you take pleasure in making it _very_ hard for me.”

“What are you talking about? I’m a delight,” Zuko says with a wry grin.

“A delightful pain in my ass, maybe.”

“Your ass would be nowhere without my ass,” Zuko says, then wrinkles his nose at his own choice of words. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Aang laughs softly. “Fine. But just this once.”

* * *

Azula is sitting at the kitchen island when Zuko and Aang walk into their apartment later that afternoon. 

She spins around on the barstool to face them, eyes narrowed. “Where have you two been?”

Zuko ignores her, hoping she'll drop the subject entirely.

“We slept over at Sokka and Katara’s,” Aang replies as he unzips his jacket and hangs it in the closet. “We stayed up late watching a movie and decided to stay the night.”

While Zuko’s grateful Aang didn’t mention the _real_ reason they ended up staying so late, he’s annoyed that Aang went into so much detail. Stargazing on the roof with Sokka isn’t something he wants Azula to find out about—he doesn’t want her to know about anything. It’s not her business, and Zuko knows that she’d do something to ruin it. That’s what Azula does.

Zuko steps out from the hallway and Azula catches his eye immediately, her gaze piercing. “At the sleepover stage already, Zuzu?”

“I guess so,” Zuko says, voice hard.

“I didn’t know you two were so… serious,” Azula says. She tracks him as he walks through the kitchen and towards his bedroom, spinning on the barstool to keep him in her eye line. “That’s a first for you, huh, Zuzu?”

“Shut up, Azula,” Zuko snaps. He steps into his room, slamming the door behind him. He can still hear the familiar trill of her giggle from the other side of the door. 

For a moment, he leans his forehead against the wall, exhaling heavily. What is it about his sister that allows her to get under his skin so easily? 

He shakes his head, dispelling the thought. As he turns around, his open laptop catches his eye. There’s been something on the back of his mind ever since he left Sokka’s apartment. 

Not too long ago, Sokka had told Zuko that he didn’t think jewellery would look good on him. Zuko disagreed, but Sokka hadn’t believed him. And when Zuko noticed Sokka’s thigh tattoo, all coherent thoughts promptly flew out of his brain, and the subject was dropped. 

But Sokka’s observation of Zuko’s rings and his quiet comment about his thoughts of jewellery on himself stuck with Zuko, all this time. He wants to prove Sokka wrong. Because Sokka would look _stunning_ in jewellery. Zuko can’t get the image out of his head. 

Sokka in long necklaces, or layered bracelets on his wrists, multiple rings adorning his fingers. Zuko can’t decide whether he’d look better in silver or gold, so he imagines him in both. And he looks goddamn gorgeous. 

Zuko has his laptop open and a browser pulled up before he realizes he’s even sat down at his desk. His fingers seem to move faster than his brain, like they already know what Zuko’s trying to find without telling them. He supposes that might be fair, because he’s been thinking about this all morning, and maybe even last night too, if he’s being honest with himself. 

He’s been wanting to get Sokka something for Christmas, and now he has the perfect idea. The only problem is that he doesn’t know if it’s something that actually exists.

After hours of meticulous research, three open documents, and a spreadsheet, Zuko finally straightens up from where he’s been hunched over his laptop. His back cracks satisfyingly. 

So—there’s good news and bad news regarding Sokka’s gift. The good news: what he’s looking for does actually exist. It had taken a while to find a jeweller who worked with meteorite instead of calling whatever metal they actually used “meteorite”, but he’d found one. He even has a design in mind to give to the jeweller in question—the sketch is resting on his desk next to his laptop. 

However, there’s bad news, too. Namely, the fact that the specific jeweller Zuko found works out of Ottawa. Which is _slightly_ out of his way. But only slightly. 

Zuko pushes himself to his feet, walking out of his room and down the hallway until he’s standing in front of Aang’s room. He doesn’t hesitate before he knocks. 

“Yeah, come in,” Aang calls. 

Zuko opens the door. Aang’s sitting against his headboard on his bed, computer resting in his lap. He looks up as Zuko steps into the room. 

“Hey,” Aang says. “What’s up?”

Zuko cuts straight to the point. “Do you want to drive to Ottawa with me?”

Aang stares at him for a moment, as if gauging whether or not he’s being serious. He must determine that Zuko is, because he asks, “Right now?”

“Tomorrow,” Zuko says. “Two hours there, two hours back. I don’t know how long we’ll be there, though. Shouldn’t be too long.”

Aang narrows his eyes at Zuko. He slowly shuts his laptop and slides it onto his mattress. “Are you going to tell me why you want to go to Ottawa all of a sudden? You know that’s where Ozai–” 

“It’s not about him,” Zuko interrupts. 

“Then what’s it about?”

The conversation they had in the car earlier that day still rings loudly in his ears, Aang’s assertion that Sokka felt the same way about Zuko on repeat in his brain. They’re just _friends,_ so he hopes that Aang doesn’t take this the wrong way. 

“I want to get a Christmas gift for Sokka,” Zuko tells him. 

Aang’s shoulders drop, and he sinks back into his pillows. “You want to drive all the way to Ottawa just to get Sokka a gift? You can’t get it shipped here?”

“It’s custom, I need to talk to the jeweller in person,” Zuko says. 

He only realizes that he might have given too much away all in one go when Aang’s eyes go wide, and he leans forward. “Jewellery?” Aang asks. “You want to get Sokka… custom jewellery.”

Zuko sighs. There’s no point trying to hide it. If Aang decides to come with him he would have found out anyway. “Yeah.”

Aang is silent, and for a moment, he and Zuko size each other up. “Do I really need to say it?” Aang asks. 

“No,” Zuko says, glad that Aang had the courtesy to ask before blurting out what Zuko’s sure he’s been dying to say. “I know how it looks.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I _do_.”

“Sure.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Do you want to come or not?”

Aang grins. “You know I love road trips. I’m in.”

Zuko exhales in relief. He would have driven to Ottawa alone if he’d had to, but he’s grateful that Aang’s agreed to come along for the ride. “Okay, great,” he says. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

“Sounds good. I’ll make a playlist!”

Zuko grins as he steps out of Aang’s room. “Looking forward to it,” he says, then shuts the door.

* * *

They’re on the road early Sunday morning. Zuko can’t tell if it’s the sun that’s on this side of too bright, or if it’s due to the snow reflecting the sun’s beams, but either way, he’s happy he remembered to grab his sunglasses before they left the apartment. 

Zuko hadn’t mentioned a word of their trip to Azula before they left, choosing instead to leave her a post-it note saying they’d be gone for most of the day and not to wait up for them. He didn’t want to deal with her inevitable questions or—god forbid—having her invite herself to join the trip. He almost expected a protest from Aang, but Aang didn’t say a word as Zuko stuck the neon piece of paper on the fridge before leaving. He’s sure that Aang was thinking the exact same thing as Zuko was. 

_She doesn’t need to know, so why tell her?_

If it was summertime, Zuko may have chosen to go on the more scenic route, along the old highway to Ottawa. But it’s winter, and Zuko wants to get to the jeweller’s shop as soon as possible, so he sticks to the newer highway. Aang connects his phone to the bluetooth as soon as they’re climbing past 100 kilometers an hour, early 2000s hits blaring through the speakers.

They stop around the halfway mark in Alfred, mostly because Aang had actually done _research_ about this trip and was promised that the poutine there was out of this world. 

Zuko does have to admit, whoever recommended Landriault Snack Bar on TripAdvisor definitely knew what they were talking about. 

After that, it’s another hour of driving until they reach their destination. Aang’s been pretty content to sit and listen to music while scrolling through his phone, but now he turns to Zuko with a familiar glint in his eye.

“Are you going to tell me more about this gift?”

Zuko sighs, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He’s been waiting for this question ever since Aang slid into the passenger seat. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Aang says. 

“Or what?”

Aang’s response is immediate, like he’d been waiting for Zuko to ask that exact question. “Or I’ll open this package of powdered mini donuts, right here in your car.”

“What the hell are you–” Zuko finally looks over to Aang and sees the aforementioned package of donuts sitting innocuously in his lap. He has to do a double take. “Where did you even get those?”

Aang gives Zuko a shit-eating grin. “Back in Alfred. They looked good.” His fingers inch forward to open the container. “Just think of what a mess this is going to make…”

Zuko’s hands clench unconsciously on the steering wheel. Zuko’s car is always clean because that’s the way he likes it. He takes _pride_ in it. If Aang gets powdered sugar all over the interior detailing, he might do something drastic. 

The package crinkles as Aang’s fingers finally make contact. Zuko still doesn’t say anything. The container crinkles louder. 

“Okay, _fine!_ ” Zuko exclaims. He wishes Aang could see the venom in his eyes through his dark sunglasses as he cuts a glance over to him. Aang only grins at him brightly. 

Zuko points to the glove compartment. “I put the general idea of what I want in there. _Please_ do not open the donuts in here, I’m begging.”

Aang’s smug smile hasn’t dissipated in the least, but he does set the unopened package of donuts to rest at his feet, replacing one form of needling Zuko for another. Aang pulls out Zuko’s sketch, tilting his head as he examines the paper. Zuko steadfastly turns his attention back to the road, trying to ignore the thudding in his heart, the anticipation of what Aang’s going to say. 

Aang lets out a soft breath. “I always forget how good you are at drawing.”

Zuko keeps quiet, because he knows that’s not all Aang is going to say. 

“This is… really beautiful, Zuko. Like, wow.”

Zuko looks over at Aang out of the corner of his eye. Aang is peering at the piece of paper closely, tilting it to better catch the light streaming through the windows. He thumbs over Zuko’s handwriting where Zuko has jotted down the type of material and colour he wants for the braided element. 

“You put a lot of thought into this, huh?” Aang asks. 

Saying _no_ would be an outright lie, but saying _yes_ seems somehow not enough, or lesser than. 

Zuko replies, “I wanted to get Sokka a gift that meant something.” He sighs. “I hope he likes it. Hell, I hope the jeweller can actually make it.”

“They will!” Aang says confidently. “And if they can’t, we’ll find somewhere else.”

Aang smiles over at Zuko, softer this time. Not for the first time, Zuko wonders what he’s done to deserve a friend like Aang. 

“You’re right,” Zuko says, trying to take some of Aang’s confidence on himself. “Everything will work out.”

“That’s the spirit!” Aang bends down to retrieve the donuts from his feet, then turns pleading eyes on Zuko. “Can I eat some of these for real? Now I’m craving them.”

Without taking his eyes off the road, Zuko snatches the box of powdered donuts and throws them into the backseat. “Absolutely not.”

“Zuko!” Aang tries to wiggle into the back without undoing his seatbelt, but the package is just out of reach. He slumps back into his seat, defeated. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw them out the window,” Zuko says. “I can’t believe you brought _powdered donuts_ into my car.”

Aang crosses his arms and pouts. He stays that way for the rest of the drive into Ottawa.

When Zuko parks in front of the jeweller’s shop, Aang is still resolutely staring out of the passenger side window. 

Zuko sighs. “Are you coming in, or what?”

“Yeah,” Aang mumbles, unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out of the car. 

Zuko takes the sketch back out of the glove compartment and follows suit, tucking it into his inner jacket pocket before stepping into the warmth of the shop. 

The store is small, but nicely decorated. There are rings splayed beneath glass countertops, bracelets and necklaces behind display cases, but Zuko is interested in something more personal than these standard pieces. 

A man steps out from a back room, wiping his hands with a towel before setting it aside. “Hello, boys. How can I help you today?”

“Hi,” Zuko says. “We spoke on the phone yesterday about making a custom piece with meteorite.”

“Ah,” the man says, face lighting up. Zuko can’t tell if it’s because he’s excited about the prospect of working with a meteorite or if the man figures this project is going to be an expensive one. “Zuko, was it?”

“Yes,” Zuko confirms. 

“You said you had a design in mind?”

In lieu of answering, Zuko gives the man his sketch and steps back, trying not to hold his breath. The last thing he wants is the jeweller to tell him that it isn’t possible. 

The man looks over the sketch for a very long time, rotating it in his hands and peering at it every which way. He makes a thoughtful sound exactly once, and then falls back into silence. 

Zuko slides his gaze over to Aang, but Aang only shrugs, looking just as confused. 

“Can you do it?” Zuko finally has to ask.

The man's eyes flicks up to Zuko. “When do you need it finished by?”

“Before Christmas,” Zuko says. “Preferably a few days earlier.”

The man looks back down to the sketch, humming contemplatively. “I’m going to be honest with you boys, I’d normally say no to making something so detailed in such a short time frame. But this intrigues me. A lot.” He finally looks up, glancing over to Aang. “Is this piece for you?”

“Oh,” Aang says, looking slightly startled. “No. I’m just here for moral support.”

“It’s for one of my friends,” Zuko says hastily.

The man raises an eyebrow. “A friend, eh?” He flicks the sketch with the back of a fingernail. “This is extremely intricate for just a friend.”

Aang grins smugly over at Zuko. “Told you.”

“Shut up, Aang.”

The man smiles, looking between Zuko and Aang with bright eyes. “Come on into the back, you two. We need to discuss logistics.”

* * *

Zuko and Aang climb back into the car once they’ve figured everything out for the bracelet.

“It’s nice that he’ll be able to get it done in two weeks,” Aang says as he buckles in. 

“Here’s hoping,” Zuko says as he twists in his seat, shifting the gear into reverse and backing out of the parking space. 

“Even better that he said he’d ship it to you.”

“I’m gonna be paying for that shipping, you know,” Zuko says. 

Aang huffs out a breath of laughter. “ _You’re_ paying?”

“Sure,” Zuko says. He cuts a sharp grin to Aang. “Or Ozai’s credit card. What’s the difference?”

“He won’t think you dropping a couple grand at a jewellery store is odd?”

“No,” Zuko reasons. “He’ll probably assume I bought something for myself. It’ll be fine.”

“You and your ring obsession,” Aang says with a shake of his head. 

“Hey, what’s wrong with my rings?” Zuko asks, mock offended.

“Nothing, nothing,” Aang assures. “They’re very… nice.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Just because _some_ people grew up not believing in worldly possessions doesn’t mean you have to ruin all my fun.”

“I would never,” Aang says, hand flying to his chest. He sounds positively scandalized, but Zuko can hear the grin in his voice.

“Why did I invite you on this trip again?” Zuko asks, mostly to himself.

Aang takes it upon himself to answer anyway. “Because you didn’t want to go alone. Because you love my playlists. Because deep down in that cold, dark heart of yours you _love_ me,” he says, dragging out the vowel.

Zuko doesn’t reply, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

“Zuko,” Aang singsongs. He pokes him in the cheek. “Say it. Say you love me.”

By the fourth poke, Zuko slaps Aang’s hand away. When Aang reaches out again, Zuko stretches across to shove Aang by the shoulder. The car swerves dangerously.

“Zuko, you’re driving!” he protests.

“You started it!”

It’s quiet in the car for all of five seconds before they’re both bursting out laughing. 

“You almost made me crash the car!” Zuko says. 

“Are you kidding me? That was all you!”

Their laughter slowly subsides, and Zuko focuses back on the road. The familiar hum of the engine is all that can be heard. 

“Seriously though,” Zuko says finally. “Thank you for coming. I appreciate it.”

Aang turns his head, giving Zuko an easy grin. “Of course. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

* * *

The weekend comes and goes, and by the time Zuko walks onto campus on Monday, the full reality of his situation comes crashing down on him.

It’s December. There’s only one more week left of classes, and then two weeks dedicated to finals. He has two essays due this week, a project to present, and a physics lab to complete. And five finals to study for.

Fuck.

He’d been looking forward to Christmas over the weekend, excited by the prospect of Sokka’s gift, but it’s sinking in that he has a lot of work to do between now and then. He better get started.

* * *

Zuko debates cancelling his tutoring sessions with Sokka, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He enjoys his company too much to cut him out entirely, so Zuko continues to drive them to Sokka’s place, he works on the physics lab assignments with Sokka’s help, and goes home. 

He thinks Sokka might be a bit disappointed when Zuko keeps on turning down his offers to watch a movie afterwards, especially on Friday, but Zuko _can’t_. He can’t justify watching a screen for two hours when he could be using that time to finish his essay, or make comprehensive notes, or work on those flashcards for his first final. There’s so much looming on the horizon that Zuko physically cannot think about it all at once or else he’ll… So he doesn’t.

He goes to school, he limits his time with Sokka to an hour maximum—even though it kills him to do so—and then he goes home to work. The last day of classes is a relief, because then he only needs to focus on his finals instead of stupid group projects and essays on fiscal policies.

However, the end of classes also means the end of his and Sokka’s tutoring sessions. After so long of seeing each other almost every day, Zuko feels suddenly bereft when he no longer has an excuse to see Sokka during the week. To distract himself, Zuko locks himself in his room and barely leaves. He sees Aang every so often, but only because he brings Zuko food like a particular doting mother. Zuko never once asks for it, but Aang brings it anyway. 

Azula emerges from her own room exactly once. They eye each other warily across the counter as she walks into the kitchen, and neither of them say a word.

Zuko and Azula don’t see eye to eye on most things, but finals season is one of the few occasions where they do. Ozai’s high expectations for grades apply to both of them, and while As seem to come easier to Azula, it’s not uncommon for them both to disappear during finals. It’s a time of studying and stress and not much more.

Azula grabs an apple from the fridge and a glass of water before going back to her room, side-eyeing Zuko as she goes. Zuko watches her as he finishes the lunch Aang dragged him out for, then returns back to his notes.

After that, it’s a blur of studying and sleeping and writing out flashcards. He doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been in his room when he hears the familiar click of his door opening behind him.

“Go away, Aang,” Zuko says without looking up. “I’m busy.”

Aang doesn’t reply, and the door closes. Zuko returns to his work.

But then there’s a flash of movement to his right, and Zuko looks over with a start to find Sokka lounging on his bed. He has to do a double take.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Zuko manages, looking between Sokka and the door.

Sokka shrugs, his head propped up in his hand, the picture of casual. “Aang let me in.”

Zuko sighs deeply, turning back to his desk. He’d be happier to see Sokka if he weren’t so focused on his work. “Of course he did.”

“He told me that you haven’t seen sunlight in days,” Sokka continues. “I tried texting, but you never responded.”

Zuko freezes. “I—What day is it?”

Sokka looks at him like he’s trying to tell if Zuko is joking or not. The panic Zuko’s feeling must show on his face, because Sokka responds, “Tuesday.”

Zuko slumps back in his chair in relief. _Thank god._ If it’s Tuesday today, then he still has the rest of the evening and all of tomorrow to study for the back-to-back finals he has on Thursday.

He’s moving before he even realizes it, shuffling papers and gathering up the flashcards he has strewn about. Zuko reaches for the stack, only to notice that one is missing. He _knows_ one is missing because there used to be a distinctive one at the top of the pile, but now there’s a completely different card sitting there. Scrambling to find it, Zuko lifts up the mess of paper over his desk and shoves his laptop to the side.

Zuko feels Sokka’s warm fingers wrap around his wrist, and he freezes. “Hey,” Sokka says softly. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Zuko snaps before he can think up a lie. “I’m _not_ okay. I need to study, Sokka. You should… you need to go. I don’t have time to think about physics right now. Physics is my last final on Friday and I have two on Thursday and then two others next Tuesday and Wednesday, and I need to get an A on all of them, and–”

Sokka squeezes Zuko’s wrist, and Zuko falls silent, chest heaving. Why does it feel like he just ran a marathon?

“I’m not here about physics,” Sokka tells him. “I’m here to make sure that you’re okay. Which you are very obviously _not._ I mean, you just told me you’re not.”

Zuko rolls his eyes—he can’t help it. “I’ll be fine once finals are over, Sokka. But I have a lot of work to do if I don’t want your tutoring to go to waste. If I fail one of these finals, I–” he shakes his head. “It’s—not an option.”

As he stops talking, Zuko realizes that Sokka is rubbing his thumb along the inside of Zuko’s wrist. Swallowing thickly, Zuko chances a look down at where Sokka’s hand is connecting them. And, yup, Zuko’s brain wasn’t lying to him, Sokka’s thumb is definitely rubbing soothing circles into Zuko’s pulsepoint. Surprisingly, Zuko doesn’t want to pull away. His shoulders start to drop from where they’ve climbed up to near his ears, that single point of contact doing wonders to ease the tension from Zuko’s body.

“Zuko.” Sokka’s tone is forceful, but not demanding. “You’re the smartest person I know. The most hardworking person I know. You’re going to smash these finals out of the park, I know that for a fact.”

“You don’t, Sokka,” Zuko protests.

“I do,” Sokka responds easily. “Now, speaking of parks, how about we take Appa for a walk? You can bring that stack of flashcards with you, and I’ll quiz you once we get there.”

Zuko hesitates. Sokka wants to get him outside, very clearly, but he also wants to help him study? _Why?_ What could Sokka possibly get out of this?

“It’ll be _fun,_ ” Sokka wheedles in a singsong voice.

Turning back to his desk, Zuko looks at his pile of flashcards. “I’m still missing one.”

“It’s under your chair,” Sokka replies immediately. Before Zuko can react, Sokka is bending down to pick up the wayward card and handing it over.

“Thanks,” Zuko says as he takes the card with his free hand, because Sokka is _still holding his wrist._ Zuko kind of wants him to never let go.

“No problem,” Sokka says with a grin. “So? You want to go?”

“I–” Zuko shouldn’t go. He shouldn’t _want_ to go.

Zuko has gone through finals season before. Multiple times. And he’s gotten used to the unbelievable stress, and sleep deprivation, and the constant feeling that he might die before he’s finished his last exam. That’s normal. He’s used to it.

But he’s never met someone quite like Sokka. He’s never met someone who wants to get Zuko out of the house to take a break from studying, but is still going to let him study anyway. Sokka must know exactly how much Zuko needs that right now. To at least have the option.

And, shit. He’s _missed_ Sokka. It’s barely been a few days since they last saw each other, but Zuko’s missed him all the same.

Taking a break feels wrong. He shouldn’t take one. His first final is less than forty-eight hours away and he’s not prepared, not in the way he needs to be.

Sokka is looking at him hopefully, the corner of his mouth curled up in a barely there smile.

Just like when they were on the roof together after watching the Leonids, Zuko has the same overwhelming urge to kiss him.

Instead, he palms the stack of flashcards and puts them in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Zuko says.

* * *

Sokka and Zuko take Appa on a walk.

True to his word, Sokka sits them down on a bench and holds a hand out for Zuko’s flashcards. Appa pants happily as he sits between their knees, seemingly content to watch the bluejays as they flutter from tree to tree.

Zuko will never admit to anyone that he had forgotten about the flashcards the minute they left the apartment. So when Zuko sees Sokka’s hand poised there, he thinks for a split second that Sokka wants to hold his hand.

It’s not until a few moments later, after Sokka raises his eyebrows pointedly and prompts, “The flashcards?” when Zuko finally clues in.

“ _Right,_ ” Zuko says, looking away quickly. Hopefully, the rising blush in his cheeks will be written off as a reaction to the cold. He digs around in his pocket, having to lean slightly closer to Sokka to get at them under his winter jacket, before finally handing them over.

“You have nice handwriting,” Sokka says offhandedly, flipping through some of the cards. Before Zuko can reply, Sokka turns to him, expression serious.

“What?” Zuko asks.

“Before we get into this, I have one condition,” Sokka says.

Zuko raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were going to help me study, no strings attached,” he says loftily. “Wasn’t getting me outside enough?”

“Of course not,” Sokka scoffs. “ _Obviously_ there are more stipulations.”

“Alright,” Zuko says. “And what would those stipulations be?”

Zuko’s not sure what he’s expecting. Maybe a promise that Zuko will take better care of himself, or open up his curtains every once in a while, or text Sokka back within a reasonable timeframe. 

Instead, Sokka says, “There’s a group of us going out at the end of finals, next Friday. We’re all going to the Applebee’s near campus. I want you to come.” He looks up at Zuko earnestly, fingers fiddling with Appa’s leash.

It’s not what Zuko was expecting, not in the slightest. Sokka’s inviting him out for a group outing? Zuko doesn’t really _like_ groups. He almost dropped a class this semester, knowing full well the ramifications of doing so, solely because it had a final group project. 

If Sokka is inviting him out, he would much rather go out with just the two of them. But he can’t tell Sokka that _._ And he can’t help but feel a sharp thrill of excitement that Sokka wants to keep seeing him outside of their tutoring sessions.

So Zuko finds himself saying, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sokka echoes, eyes wide like he can’t believe Zuko agreed.

“Sure,” Zuko says with a half-hearted shrug which feels like it’s more for show than anything.

“I…” Sokka swallows, and Zuko watches his Adam’s apple bop. They’re sitting very close together. “I thought it would take a bit more convincing than that, honestly.”

If only Sokka knew that he doesn’t have to convince Zuko to spend time with him, because Zuko already wants to do that, like, all the time. It’s kind of a problem.

Before Zuko blurts that out, he instead asks, “Who else is going?”

“It’s not a huge group,” Sokka answers. “The regulars: you, me, Katara, Aang, and Suki.”

“You’ve already invited Aang?” Zuko asks, slightly taken aback. “Wait, you invited _Aang_ before _me?_ ”

Sokka pokes a finger into the side of Zuko’s ribs playfully. The jab is through three layers of clothing, but Zuko still shrinks away with a laugh.

“I _would_ have invited you first,” Sokka tells him. “If you would pick up your damn phone once in a while.”

Sokka reaches out to tickle him some more, but Zuko is quick to block his attempts, shuffling farther down the bench.

“I turn off my phone when I’m studying,” Zuko replies. Ribs finally free from Sokka’s searching fingers, Zuko laughs dissolve quickly. “Which is… kind of all the time now.”

Sokka looks like he’s debating with himself about whether or not to say something. In the end, he only gives Zuko a smile, holds up the stack of flashcards, and says, “Ready?”

Zuko wonders what Sokka might have said.

He nods. “Ready.”


	10. Chapter 10

After their afternoon in the park, Zuko makes a habit of checking his phone more often.

Zuko replies to Sokka’s unanswered texts. 

There’s a missed one from Aang asking him if he wanted anything from the grocery store, but it was sent two days ago, so Zuko figures that Aang wouldn’t appreciate it if he responded now.

On Wednesday, Sokka texts him twice. Zuko finds that surprising, considering Sokka will text him six times in a row just to explain a single point. He figures Sokka is showing restraint for Zuko’s benefit, because it’s not even important stuff that requires a response from him. 

One text is a picture of Momo draped over Sokka’s head, pink tongue licking his forehead. There’s a caption that Sokka’s sent along with it.

_why can’t he sit in my lap like a normal cat?_

Zuko replies, _An abnormal cat for an abnormal guy._

Sokka responds immediately with a photo of shocked pikachu, and Zuko laughs before turning his phone back off and returning to his studies.

The morning of his first exam, there’s a text waiting for him from Sokka. 

_good luck!!! you’re going to do great, i can feel it in my bones!_

There’s a bone emoji at the end of it, followed by a string of four leaf clovers.

Zuko doesn’t know what to say back, so he doesn’t reply.

When Zuko turns his phone back on after the exam, there’s another text from Sokka that comes through. 

_i bet you did great!!! that test had NOTHING on you!_

It makes him pause, because it seems that Sokka knows his exam schedule. Sure, Zuko had told Sokka which days they were on, but he hadn’t expected Sokka to _remember the exam dates._ And he _definitely_ didn’t expect Sokka to text him encouraging messages about them. 

Before his next exam a few hours later, Sokka texts him just before he’s about to power down his phone. 

_YOU’RE GOING TO CRUSH IT!_

The three explosion emojis at the end of it make Zuko smile.

 _Thanks, Sokka,_ Zuko types back. 

It’s odd how only a few words from a certain someone can make him feel more confident about walking into that exam room, but they do. And he’s grateful.

Zuko walks out of his exam in under two hours, and he’s feeling pretty good about it. 

Knowing that Sokka probably texted him while his phone was off, Zuko doesn’t turn it back on until he’s returned home. He forces himself to make dinner, eat it, and clean the dishes before he looks at his phone screen. 

Sokka’s message is simple, but it warms Zuko’s heart, nonetheless.

_knew you could do it, zuko. two down, three more to go!_

* * *

To Zuko’s surprise, Sokka’s texts keep coming, right until his very last final. The message waiting for him as Zuko walks out of the physics room doesn’t have any text, only celebration emojis. Zuko has to scroll for a very long time to reach the end of the message, where Sokka has actually written words.

_YOU’RE ALL DONE! whooooooo! applebee’s at 7 don’t forget!!!!_

How Zuko could have forgotten, he’s not quite sure, because it’s been on his mind all week. And now it’s finally here.

Usually, for a group outing like this, nerves would have set in by now. But the euphoria of finally being done with his exams—the relief at not having to set foot in another lecture hall until January—is heady. 

Zuko feels like he could take on the world and win.

So, maybe he dresses up a little bit. He chooses a burgundy turtleneck from his closet and pairs it with his nicest pair of black jeans and one of his favourite belts. There’s time to spare afterwards, so he paints his nails matte black. Both because he hasn’t done them in a long time, and because he _can_.

He’s done with finals. He’s _done._ The complete and total peace and tranquility he feels at his two weeks of stress finally being over is intoxicating.

To make matters even better, Sokka’s bracelet came in the other day, a full eight days before Christmas. The jeweller must have been on a roll, or at least excited to complete it, because he finished it extremely fast. Zuko had been wondering if he would even get it before the end of the year. 

When it arrived, Zuko had torn into the box, heart in his throat. He had seen the jeweller’s custom work, he understood that the man knew what he was doing when it came to creating jewellery, but it hadn’t stopped him from being nervous. Would it be what he envisioned? Would the materials be correct? Would it be good enough for Sokka? 

It turned out that his worries were unfounded, because the bracelet was—and still is—absolutely stunning. It’s everything he ever wanted Sokka to wear clasped around his wrist. He hopes that Sokka will like it. 

Zuko had written a short paragraph to go in the box with the bracelet. He had been crafting the perfect note in his head for the past twenty days and needed to get it on paper before he forgot. It was probably too telling, considering they were strictly _friends,_ so Zuko needed to rewrite it before he gave it to Sokka for Christmas. He told himself that he had time.

The box holding the bracelet and the note now sits at the bottom of Zuko’s sock drawer, waiting to be wrapped. For a moment, Zuko debates opening the drawer and taking another look, because he hasn’t seen the bracelet in a few days. He forces himself not to—he’s sure it looks the exact same as it did before. 

At quarter to seven, Zuko walks into the living room to find Azula sitting on the couch, Mai and Ty Lee flanking her as the television drones on in the background. Ty Lee gives him a big grin and a wave. Mai meets his eye, pointedly looks at his outfit, and raises an eyebrow.

“Where are _you_ off to, Zuzu?” Azula asks.

“Aang and I are meeting some friends for dinner,” he replies, trying to be as vague as possible.

“Does this include your… _boyfriend?_ ” she prods.

Zuko sighs, ignoring the slight thrill that runs through him at Azula calling Sokka his boyfriend. “Yes, Sokka will be there.”

Azula purses her lips, eyes calculating. “I don’t know why you bothered getting close to anyone here. You don’t even know how long we’ll be staying.”

“We stayed in London for two years, Azula,” Zuko replies before he realizes he should have simply ignored her taunting. “We’ll probably be here until graduation.”

She hums. “Perhaps.”

Zuko narrows her eyes at her. She looks like she knows something that he doesn’t, and it unsettles him.

“Aang!” Zuko calls over his shoulder. “Let’s go!”

As he makes his way to the front door, Azula says something. She doesn’t raise her voice, but she doesn’t need to. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Zuzu.” 

* * *

Aang thinks it’s silly to drive the car to Applebee’s when it’s barely a ten minute walk to the restaurant, to which Zuko asks him very pointedly if he would like to walk those ten minutes outside while it’s snowing. Aang looks out the window and decides that he doesn’t want to walk in the snow, so Zuko drives them. 

He cranks up the heat as soon as they’re on the road, and Aang glares at him from the passenger seat.

Their timing is perfect—Zuko and Aang approach the entrance to the restaurant as Katara, Sokka, and Suki emerge from around the corner. As the three of them walk closer, the light spilling through the restaurant windows paints them in a warm glow. Sokka gets the door from where Zuko is holding it open, gesturing for Zuko to go ahead. Katara is already letting the hostess know about their reservation, so Zuko and Sokka quickly join them.

They’re led to a cozy corner booth at the back of the restaurant. Zuko doesn’t know how he and Sokka get wedged right in the middle of the semi-circle, but they do. Suki slides in on Sokka’s left, and Aang shuffles over to Zuko’s right, Katara right beside him.

“The gang’s all here!” Sokka says.

“Minus Toph,” Suki adds.

“Minus Toph,” Sokka agrees.

“Where is she now, anyway?” Suki asks. “Back in Rome?”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “I called her last week. Apparently, she’s in Budapest.”

Suki starts to laugh. “Budapest? What the hell is she doing there?”

Sokka shrugs. “Beats me. Sounds like she’s having fun though.”

“Good for her,” Suki says.

“When’s she getting back again, Sokka?” Aang asks.

“May seventeenth,” Sokka replies immediately.

“That was quick,” Katara comments with a laugh.

Sokka’s grin goes lopsided. “I miss her, that’s all.”

“What, you don’t like having your own sister as your roommate?” Katara asks, mock offended.

“Of course I do, Kit Kat,” Sokka says. He leans across Zuko and Aang to poke Katara in the cheek, but she bats his hand away before he can get there. Zuko leans as far back as possible and pretends that he doesn’t like the weight of Sokka laying across him as much as he does.

Sokka finally sits back upright when their server arrives to take their drink orders. They haven’t had time to peruse the menus yet, so the server promises to check in on their table in a few minutes once their drinks are ready.

“What’s everyone getting?” Aang asks.

“I don’t even care, I’m so hungry,” Sokka replies, scanning the menu quickly.

The server returns with their drinks in record time, and they place their orders. The conversation lulls for a moment, so Zuko leans forward to address Suki.

“You study at McGill too, right?”

Suki has to finish taking a sip of her drink before she starts to reply, nodding. “Yeah!”

“What are you studying?” he asks.

“Women and Gender Studies,” Suki answers.

“Oh, nice,” Zuko says.

“That’s how I met this one,” Suki says, jabbing a thumb towards Sokka. “He thought a Women and Gender Studies class would be a great elective, but by the end of the second week I could tell that he was going to be a problem.”

“Hey, I wasn’t _that_ bad,” Sokka defends himself.

Suki gives him a look that says, _bitch please._ “You mansplained radical feminism to me,” she deadpans.

“And then you schooled me, invited me to Allez Up, and now we’re best friends,” Sokka says with a bright grin. He reminds Zuko of a golden retriever.

Suki narrows her eyes at Sokka, but she’s fighting a grin. “Yeah, fine,” she says. “I guess we are.”

Sokka wraps an arm around Suki and pulls her close for a second before letting go. Zuko pointedly looks away.

“What are everyone’s plans for the winter holidays, then?” Suki asks.

Zuko watches as Sokka and Katara exchange a meaningful look. Katara widens her eyes, and Sokka gestures with his head pointedly towards nothing.

With a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glance towards Aang, Katara says, “Sokka and I are actually going back home for the holidays. We’re leaving on Monday. I know it’s last minute, but…” Katara turns to Aang, who looks over at her in anticipation. “I was wondering if you’d want to come with us? And, uh. Meet my family.”

The grin that Aang gives Katara is blinding. “Of course!” he says. “I’d love to come.”

Katara’s shoulders drop, like she’d been expecting Aang to say no and is relieved to hear him actually say yes. “Okay,” she breathes, her smile growing. “Good.”

Zuko looks away from the grinning couple for a moment, and locks eyes with Sokka. Sokka’s lips part, like he’s about to say something, like he _wants_ to say something, but then he’s looking down and away. It’s not like Sokka to back away from confrontation, but Zuko has seen it become more of a habit lately. Sokka reaches out to pick up the opened straw packaging on the table in front of him and starts to fiddle with it, pointedly not meeting Zuko’s gaze.

That’s the second time that Sokka looked like he was going to tell Zuko something and then didn’t. All it does is make Zuko unbearably curious.

“What about you, Suki?” Sokka asks almost desperately, like he’s dying to change the subject. “Do you have any plans for the holidays?”

“Um, yeah, actually,” she replies. She looks down at her lap with a tiny smile, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

Sokka leans towards her. “Um, what does _that_ mean?” he asks. “Suki!”

Her grin widens. “Haru asked me if I wanted to spend Christmas with him and his family. We leave on Sunday.”

“Wait, are you and Haru…” Sokka trails off.

She lifts one shoulder coyly.

“Suki!” Sokka exclaims. “When did this happen?”

“He asked me out a little bit after you and Zuko came in, actually. I think he saw you two and was inspired, so thanks for that. I appreciate it.”

Sokka starts to laugh. “You’re welcome. But oh my _god,_ I can’t believe you two are like, dating now. That’s crazy.”

“It’s not _that_ crazy,” Suki says.

“Nope, totally crazy,” Sokka maintains. “But now you can finally get him to shave that _god awful_ mustache.”

Suki smirks, leaning back into the booth and looking extremely satisfied with herself. “It’s already gone.”

“You’re a goddess among women,” Sokka says instantly.

Suki hums. “I know.”

* * *

Their food comes out not long after, and they put a pause on their conversation to eat. 

Sokka keeps on nudging Zuko with his elbow as he eats. It seemed like an accident at first, but by the fourth or fifth time, Zuko is sure Sokka’s doing it on purpose. Zuko starts nudging him back.

It escalates until they’re knocking knees under the table, and Sokka retaliates with more force than he probably intended. He ends up rattling the table, and Katara slams down her fork and fixes them both with a glare. Personally, Zuko thinks that glare would be better suited for only Sokka, because he’s the one that started this whole thing.

“What are you two _doing_ over there?” she asks, exasperated.

Sokka looks over at her innocently. “What are you talking about?” he asks before daintily taking another bite of food, which he never does. He normally scarfs down meals like they’ll be his last.

She narrows her eyes at Sokka, then slides her gaze over to Zuko. Zuko feels pinned, like a bug under a microscope, but he can’t bring himself to look away. She holds eye contact for longer than Zuko finds strictly comfortable, then finally looks away, dropping the subject. Zuko exhales in relief.

It’s not until a few minutes later when he realizes that Sokka’s leg is still pressed up against his, and hasn’t moved since Katara spoke. When Zuko looks over to Sokka, there’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he chats quietly with Suki.

Zuko presses his knee into Sokka’s, just to see if he’ll move his leg away. But the warmth from Sokka’s leg doesn’t disappear. Instead, Sokka presses harder until their thighs rock back to right where they started.

Sokka still doesn’t move his leg away, and neither does Zuko.

Zuko tries to calm his heartbeat down for the entire rest of the meal. It doesn’t work, because Sokka starts to inch slowly closer, until they’re pressed up against each other from hip to knee. Zuko isn’t even sure if Sokka has realized he’s doing it, because he’s still talking to Suki.

By the end of the meal, Sokka has somehow managed to sling an arm around Zuko’s shoulders, all without acknowledging what he’s doing. Zuko wonders what he’s playing at—no one here is under the impression that he and Zuko are dating for real and Zuko doubts the server is one of his father’s spies. So why is Sokka being so… touchy-feely?

Zuko reasons that Sokka’s always been a tactile guy. He’s never had any hesitation about touching Zuko, not ever. Not when they watched Netflix together while Zuko was sick, or on Sokka’s weird lumpy couch during movie nights. Not even when Zuko snapped at Sokka when he was feeling stressed about finals.

Zuko can’t believe he’s admitting this to himself, but he _likes it._

He likes the casual touches Sokka gives him, in a seemingly offhand way. He likes how Sokka doesn’t have to think about touching him, like his body wants to reach out to Zuko’s on its own.

This is how Sokka treats all of his friends, probably. Like how Sokka hugged Suki earlier in the evening, or how he treats his sister, or how he interacts with Aang, even. Sokka’s a tactile person. That’s how he is with everyone.

But Zuko is the only one who’s under his arm right now, and he’s unable to deny how much the thought electrifies him. Sokka is a warm line beside him and the weight of his arm across Zuko’s shoulders is comforting.

Zuko’s been so in his head about Sokka touching him that he’s tuned out of the conversation. When he notices Aang and Katara’s intent gaze on him, he realizes that he must have missed something.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Zuko asks.

Aang gives him a knowing smirk, but doesn’t make Zuko work too hard for what he missed. “Katara and I were thinking we’d take an Uber downtown and go dancing. What do you guys think?”

“I don’t know, I still have to pack,” Suki replies.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna go either,” Sokka says with a shrug. “Sorry, guys.”

As Sokka declines, Zuko’s willingness to join plummets. He might have gone if Sokka was going, but if Sokka won’t be there, he doesn’t want to be a third wheel. “Me neither,” Zuko adds.

Suki looks sharply over to Sokka, then quickly at Zuko before looking back over to Aang and Katara. “Actually, you know what? I’d love to go with you guys.”

Sokka gives Suki an odd look, but she just shrugs.

“Alright then,” Sokka says, turning to Zuko. He doesn’t have to tilt his head very far, because they’re practically in each other’s laps already. “Guess it’s just you and me.”

Zuko swallows thickly. “Guess so.”

“Want to come to mine for dessert?” Sokka asks.

Zuko opens his mouth to reply with a resounding _yes,_ but is startled out of responding when Aang lets out a terrible, hacking cough. Aang lifts a fist to cover his mouth, his other hand slapping the table. Katara is instantly shuffling over to his side, rubbing a soothing hand over his back.

As his coughs start to subside, Aang rasps out, “Dessert?”

“Uh, yeah?” Sokka says. His inflection goes up at the end, turning the single word into a question. “We have ice cream in the freezer.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Aang says. “Ice cream, right.”

“What the hell did you _think_ he meant?” Zuko asks.

Aang’s eyes go wide, and he clears his throat of any residual tickle. “Nothing.”

Zuko feels his brow furrow as he looks over at his friend. He hopes his expression fully communicates the deep _I don’t believe you_ and _You are the weirdest person I know_ that he’s feeling right now.

“You guys should get going,” Aang says. “Our Uber won’t get here for another ten minutes, and you don’t have to hang around with us while we wait.”

“Oh, okay,” Sokka says. He squeezes his arm a little tighter around Zuko, and Zuko’s heart tightens too. “How about it? You ready to go?”

“Mhm,” Zuko hums, because he’s pretty sure that if he opens his mouth, no words will come out.

“Great,” Sokka says. His tone is soft and altogether too intimate for a booth in Applebee’s.

Suki scoots out from the side of the booth, squeezing in next to Katara on the other side. “Have fun, boys,” she says with a grin.

“You too,” Zuko says before following Sokka down to the front of the restaurant. They pay for their respective meals, even though Zuko is tempted to pay for Sokka’s too. 

Coats buttoned and zipped, they make their way into the cold night air.

The weather has changed dramatically since their night of stargazing in the cold. It’s a good thing the meteor shower happened when it did. Zuko wouldn’t be able to sit out here now for hours on end, not when it’s almost fifteen below.

“Where’d you park?” Sokka asks, squinting into the blowing snow.

“Over here,” Zuko replies.

He doesn’t even register moving, but in the next second, he’s grabbed Sokka by the hand, pulling him down the street. Zuko tells himself that it’s easier to navigate them this way—that’s the only reason he does it. Sokka slots his bare fingers in between Zuko’s gloved ones and follows.

“Where are your gloves?” Zuko asks.

“It’s not that cold,” Sokka says.

Zuko stares back at him. “Uh, yeah it is.”

“It’s cute how you think that,” Sokka says with a grin.

“Shut up,” Zuko says, then tugs Sokka closer, putting both their hands into his coat pocket. It’s lined inside, and he’s sure that Sokka’s fingers will appreciate the newfound warmth. He pointedly doesn’t think about how easily Sokka fit their hands together or how nice Sokka’s palm feels against his own.

Zuko reluctantly lets go when they reach his car, unlocking it deftly and climbing into the driver’s side as quickly as he can. Their walk took less than two minutes, but it was still long enough for the chill to set into Zuko’s bones. He turns on the car and revels in the instant hot air coming from the vent, still set up from the drive to the restaurant with Aang.

Sokka, instead of opening the passenger door, opens the door to the back of the vehicle.

“What are you–” Zuko cuts himself off as he sees Sokka grab the snow brush and ice scraper Zuko keeps in the footwell. Sokka shuts the door as a gust of wind blows through, and Zuko sees his shadow cross the passenger window as he starts to brush off the snow from the windshield.

Zuko is completely astounded that Sokka _volunteered_ without a word to stay out in the cold for longer than he needed to. He stays stock still in his seat, hands still raised to the vent, watching Sokka as he wipes snow off the back window and a couple of the side windows. Sokka still isn’t wearing any gloves.

Zuko’s heart is doing a funny thing in his chest, something that he can’t quite put a name to.

The cold air is back full force for only a moment as Sokka settles himself into the passenger seat, twisting to return the ice scraper to the footwell behind him.

“Thanks,” Zuko says faintly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You were cold,” Sokka says with a shrug.

Zuko has absolutely _no idea_ how to respond to that. Sokka did that all because Zuko was _cold?_ He shifts the gear into drive and backs out of the parking spot, resolutely not thinking about it. “We’re going to yours, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, as long as you want to,” Sokka replies.

“I don’t want to go home,” Zuko says in a moment of complete honesty. “Azula’s there with Ty Lee and Mai.”

Sokka hesitates. “I thought you and Mai were close.”

“We are,” Zuko says. “But when they’re all together… I don’t know. I’d rather hang out with you.”

Well. That was perhaps more honest than Zuko was intending, but it’s out there now, and he can’t take it back. Zuko glances over at Sokka to gauge his reaction.

Sokka meets his eyes with a grin. “Well, you’re welcome at my place _anytime._ Seriously. Whenever you want.”

Zuko shakes his head, turning back to the road. If he had it his way, he’d hang out with Sokka all the time, but he doesn’t know if that’s allowed. He’s not sure that Sokka knows exactly what he’d be signing up for, so he dismisses the thought.

The drive to Sokka’s apartment doesn't take too long. Zuko parks by the side of the road as he usually does, noticing vaguely that the spot is left open more often than not. 

It’s as if the neighbours have gotten used to Zuko’s car being here. As soon as the thought enters his brain, he shoves it back out. It’s not like it _means_ anything.

He braces himself for the cold once more as he and Sokka traipse up the front path towards the building. Sokka lets them into the small lobby and Zuko turns towards the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator.

“That’s one way to warm up,” Sokka says brightly, following after him without question. “Race you?”

Zuko doesn’t answer; he shoots forward up the stairs, getting a four step head start on Sokka.

“Hey!” Sokka exclaims. Zuko begins to hear the sound of footsteps thundering behind him. He scrambles for the handrailing, using that to not only steady himself as he turns the sharp corners on the landings, but to pull himself up faster. “Stop cheating!”

“Never!” Zuko cackles over his shoulder, pressing forward.

Sokka is gaining on him, and it reminds him of the afternoon in October when Sokka chased him around his apartment, all for a package of Oreos. His laughter is bright in his chest, like it had been then, and he feels giddy and warm all over again. 

Zuko pushes himself harder, going two steps at a time. His thighs are _burning_ , but Zuko’s competitive. He’s very determined to win this race.

Right before Zuko manages to get a grip on the door’s handle that leads to the fourth floor hallway, Sokka crashes into Zuko from behind, bodily lifting him up and away from the door.

“Sokka!” Zuko squeaks as his feet lift off the stair landing.

“You can’t beat me to my own apartment. That’s embarrassing.” Sokka grunts with the effort of keeping Zuko’s arms pinned to his sides. All at once, he lets go, quickly turning back to the door and darting into the hallway.

“Wh—Hey!” Zuko yells, grabbing the edge of the door before it fully shuts and running after Sokka. Sokka is already leaning against his door frame, the door slightly ajar from where he was quick enough to unlock it. Zuko crosses his arms, unimpressed, trying to act like he’s not completely out of breath. “Nice, Sokka. And _you_ were the one complaining about cheating.”

Sokka shrugs, completely unashamed. Zuko’s gratified to note that Sokka’s chest is also rising and falling with quick breaths. “You had a head start, I was just levelling the playing field.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“I have it on good authority that I am, in fact, _not_ the worst.”

“Oh yeah?” Zuko pushes past Sokka into the apartment. He’s sure that Sokka’s neighbours aren’t enjoying their antics. “And whose authority would that be?”

“Yours,” Sokka says, shutting the door behind them.

Zuko spins around. “ _Mine?_ ” he asks incredulously.

“Yup,” Sokka says smugly. “ _Yours._ ”

Zuko sighs heavily. “It’s not even going to be worth arguing with you, is it?”

“Definitely not,” Sokka says.

“Alright, fine,” he says. Zuko turns back to the rest of the apartment, fluttering a hand towards the fridge. “I believe I was promised ice cream?”

“Right,” Sokka says, sidestepping into the kitchen area. Zuko follows, hopping onto the counter across from the oven to find a seat. He’s seen Sokka do it a thousand times, so he refuses to feel bad about it, like he might have in his father’s house.

Sokka doesn’t even bat an eye, opening up the freezer and pulling out two tubs. “We have mint chocolate chip and vanilla. What would you prefer?”

“Uh,” Zuko says, looking between the two tubs. “Mint, I guess?”

“Good choice,” Sokka grins, sliding the tub of vanilla back into the freezer. “You know, the best thing about this shitty freezer-fridge combo is that the ice cream is always soft.”

He floats around the small kitchen space, grabbing two bowls from an upper cabinet and two spoons out of the drawer behind Zuko’s legs. Sokka nudges Zuko’s calf out of the way, holding his leg there as he takes the spoons, gently putting his limbs back to their original position once he closes the drawer. 

Zuko watches Sokka very carefully as he does so, barely breathing throughout the whole ordeal. It all feels terribly intimate and domestic.

And Zuko doesn’t hate it. Not in the slightest.

Sokka turns back to the tubs, easily scooping two perfectly round balls of ice cream into each of the waiting bowls.

“You’re good at that,” Zuko observes.

Sokka looks at him over his shoulder. “Lots of practice,” he says, licking the remaining ice cream off the spoon he used to scoop with. Sokka puts the second spoon into the other bowl, handing it off to Zuko.

As Zuko starts to take a bite, Sokka whips out a hand. “Wait!” he exclaims.

Zuko freezes, spoon halfway to his mouth. “What?” he asks.

“I have toppings!” Sokka says. “Put that down.” He waves a finger, gesturing for Zuko to set the bowl down on the counter next to him.

With a sigh, Zuko follows Sokka’s directions. He looks forlornly down to his ice cream bowl. It looks so _good._ Do they really need toppings?

Zuko decides to voice his concerns. “Do we really need toppings?”

“Of _course_ we do, Zuko. You _heathen_.” Sokka starts rifling through his cabinets, searching through one fully before moving on and looking through another. “Aha! Here it is!” Sokka spins back around, brandishing—wait, is that a package of Oreos? He hands it off to Zuko, and Zuko sees that the package isn’t even _open._

The Oreos sit heavily in his lap with its full unopened weight, Zuko staring down at it with unseeing eyes. “These aren’t open,” he says, because his brain is failing to think of anything different right now.

Sokka looks over from where he’s pulling out a small container of chocolate sprinkles. “Well, _duh_. I bought them for you.”

Zuko’s brain screeches to a halt. “You. What.”

Sokka shrugs, drowning his ice cream in the sprinkles. “I know you like Oreos.”

Zuko doesn’t know why his heart feels like it’s about to beat straight out his chest. It’s just a package of Oreos, not a declaration of love, for Christ’s sake.

Zuko tests the seal, and the package is definitely unopened—Sokka clearly didn’t get them for himself, or Katara. But Zuko asks anyway. “You got Oreos… for me?” 

When Zuko finally tears his gaze away from the Oreo package, he sees that Sokka is giving him a confused look. “Yeah? I wanted to have some on hand. For whenever you wanted them.”

Zuko stares at Sokka for a long time. Sokka looks back. 

“Are you okay?” Sokka asks. “You don’t have to have any on your ice cream if you don’t want to, I just thought that–”

Zuko’s been able to stop himself from reaching out for Sokka before, countless times. But Zuko can’t anymore. He doesn’t _want_ to.

He tosses the Oreos to the side and leans forward, snagging Sokka’s wrist and yanking him closer. Sokka stumbles slightly, catching himself with a hand on Zuko’s thigh. He seems to slot easily between Zuko’s knees, like he was made to fit there. He looks at Zuko with wide eyes.

“Zuko,” he whispers, wide eyes staring straight into Zuko’s. Zuko doesn’t miss the way Sokka’s gaze flickers down to Zuko’s lips, almost as if he too is realizing _just_ how close they are. “What–”

Zuko remembers what Sokka asked him in a hazy nightclub all those weeks ago, and decides he should extend him the same courtesy. “Can I kiss you?”

Sokka’s jaw sags slightly, lips parting. For a moment, neither of them move, neither of them breathe, the weight of Zuko’s words hanging heavily between them. Zuko’s heart has never beat this hard in his life _,_ he’s sure of it.

The silence seems to drag on for several long, tortuous hours, but Zuko figures it’s only been a few seconds. Slowly, Sokka’s hand comes up to cup Zuko’s jaw, gaze never leaving Zuko’s. His fingertips are cold where they brush the side of his neck.

Zuko thinks he’s about to get turned down in the nicest way possible—leave it to Sokka to be nice about rejecting him—but then Sokka is leaning closer, and closer, and _closer._ Their lips brush in a barely there kiss, and Zuko can feel Sokka’s warm breath puff against his cheek.

Fuck it. If they’re going to do this, they’re going to do it right.

Zuko presses forward, tilting his head ever so slightly and catching Sokka’s lips with his.

With a soft groan, Sokka kisses Zuko hard, arm wrapping around Zuko’s lower back and hauling him closer. Zuko’s hands fly up to hold Sokka’s face, fingers reaching further behind to pull the hair tie loose from Sokka’s hair.

Zuko runs a hand through the strands and can’t help himself from murmuring, “I love your hair when it’s down.”

Sokka pulls back slightly to say, “I love your hair, period.” He leans in again like he can’t help himself, lips warm and smooth against Zuko’s own. Zuko feels the pads of Sokka’s fingers raking through his hair, as if to prove his earlier statement true.

It isn’t their first kiss—Zuko remembers all too well their kiss in the club. And it seems that Sokka hasn’t forgotten either, because he’s pulling out all the stops, hitting all of Zuko’s proverbial buttons dead on, even ones that Zuko didn’t even know he _had_. Sokka is doing everything in his power to leave Zuko a shuddering, boneless mess on his kitchen counter.

“I miss the fangs,” Sokka murmurs, and Zuko almost has a heart attack.

“Sokka,” Zuko moans, tipping his head back to catch his breath.

Sokka takes that as a personal invitation, not that Zuko’s complaining. He starts pressing kisses down the length of Zuko’s throat, and Zuko hopes that Sokka can’t feel the intense flutter of his heartbeat as he bites down on his pulse point. It’s frankly embarrassing how riled up Sokka has gotten him.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you in the restaurant,” Sokka breathes between kisses. “This _outfit,_ your _nails_ , god, Zuko, it’s like you’re trying to _kill_ me.”

 _I’ve been wanting to do this since October,_ Zuko thinks, and he thanks the gods above for giving him the strength not to say it out loud. Instead, Zuko lifts a hand to Sokka’s jaw, bringing him back up so they’re sharing the same breath. He crushes their lips together, hopefully punching all that he can’t say into the sharp bite of teeth and tongue.

They kiss for minutes or hours. Zuko loses track of time. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when Sokka leans back, just barely enough to disconnect their lips. “Bedroom?” he whispers.

Zuko stares at Sokka, chest heaving. Sokka’s bedroom sounds heavenly. “Yeah,” he whispers back.

The grin that Sokka gives him is absolutely blinding. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

* * *

Sokka is a cuddler. 

Zuko supposes he should have anticipated this, considering all that Zuko already knows about him. Sokka barely gives Zuko time to catch his breath before he’s dragging Zuko bodily across the mattress. 

Sokka throws a leg over both of Zuko’s, nuzzling into the side of his neck. Zuko finds his hands in Sokka’s hair, gently untangling the knots that his own fingers had put there. He smirks slightly as his fingers catch on a particularly nasty one and Sokka unconsciously rocks his hips into Zuko’s thigh.

“That was fun,” Sokka says. He sounds sleepy.

“You _would_ be the type of person to say _that was fun_ after all of that,” Zuko snorts. “What, do you want to high five?”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a little bit of high-fiving,” Sokka says. He lifts a palm from where it’s been laying against Zuko’s chest and says, “Put ‘er there, partner.”

“Absolutely not,” Zuko says.

“Aw, come on.” 

“No.”

“I’m not going to put my hand down until you high five me. So you might as well do it.”

Zuko looks at Sokka’s hand, unwavering in the air. He wonders exactly how long Sokka would actually be able to keep that up, but he doesn’t doubt Sokka’s ability to try. With a withering sigh, Zuko reluctantly raises his hand to high five Sokka’s hand.

Sokka slots their fingers together before Zuko can set his hand back down. Bringing their clasped hands to his mouth, Sokka presses a soft kiss to the back of Zuko’s knuckles. 

Warmth immediately blooms high on Zuko’s cheekbones at the tenderness of it all. He can feel it spread down his neck and hopes that Sokka won’t notice.

Except of course he does, because it’s _Sokka._

“You’re pretty when you blush,” Sokka says, and Zuko can hear the smirk in his voice. His index finger presses into the hollow of Zuko’s throat, where Zuko’s sure the blush has stretched down to. “Actually, scratch that. You’re pretty all the time.”

“And you talk some shit when you’re tired,” Zuko replies.

Zuko hates the way his neck feels traitorously cold as Sokka shifts to look Zuko in the eye. “I’m not talking shit,” Sokka says, and the haze has cleared from his eyes. His voice is more serious than Zuko thinks he’s ever heard it. “You’re beautiful, Zuko. Every part of you.”

Zuko feels torn apart, raw and exposed under Sokka’s gaze. “Okay,” Zuko says, swallowing thickly. It doesn’t seem that Sokka’s going to take no for an answer.

Sokka shifts further onto his stomach, one hand coming up to cradle the left side of Zuko’s face. He gives Zuko plenty of time to pull away or voice a protest, but Zuko finds that he doesn’t want to. He wants Sokka’s hands on him, and he wants his attention, in any way Sokka’s willing to give it.

With nothing holding him back, Sokka swipes a thumb over Zuko’s scar. It doesn’t hurt—it hasn’t hurt for years—but Sokka treats the jagged line as if it still does, with painstaking care and affection. Zuko can’t remember if _anyone_ has touched his scar in such a way, and he closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotions that wash over him.

“You’re _beautiful,_ Zuko,” Sokka whispers, almost reverently. “One day, you’ll believe me.”

“ _You’re_ beautiful,” Zuko mumbles back. He blinks his eyes open to Sokka’s soft grin, and almost has to close them again because his heart _hurts_ from looking at him.

Sokka shuffles forward, propping his chin on Zuko’s chest. “I have a question for you.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Zuko says.

“It’s nothing bad, promise,” Sokka replies. “And you don’t need to say yes if you don’t want to, or even answer right away. It’s just that—well, there’s sort of a time limit, and–”

“Sokka,” Zuko interrupts, cutting off Sokka’s rambling. “What is it?”

“I was–” Sokka stops, then sets his jaw, like he’s steeling himself for whatever he’s about to say. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to Iqaluit with me. Well, me and Katara and Aang, I guess. For the holidays. I—I’d really like it if you came.”

Sokka’s been focused on the sheets next to Zuko’s arm while he spoke, fingers fiddling with a loose thread in the material. But as he closes his mouth, he looks up at Zuko, brown eyes filled with trepidation and hope.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, really. But I promise it’ll be super chill, and Iqaluit is really fun in the winter. There’s tons of activities with the elders, and—oh my god, the _food_ , Zuko the food is just _incredible_ —and there’s like, four hours of sunlight a day, and–” Sokka looks back up at Zuko and promptly shuts his mouth once more. “Sorry. I’m just excited to go back, I haven’t been since summer. But seriously, you don’t need to–”

Zuko makes a split second decision, solely based on the bright light in Sokka’s eyes, or maybe the nervousness that still lingers in them. “I’ll go.”

“–come if you don’t want to, and–” Sokka meets Zuko’s steady gaze with wide eyes. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll go,” Zuko repeats.

For a moment, Sokka is shocked still. But then, slowly, a grin starts to stretch across his face, until it’s bright enough to rival the sun. 

“Okay,” Sokka says, unable to fight back his smile. Zuko doesn’t want him to. 

“Okay,” he echoes, then leans down to catch Sokka’s mouth with his own. Sokka smiles into it, and Zuko can’t think of any other kiss that’s been better than this one, right here, right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody else looking at the chapter count and thinking to themselves... “I’m in danger” ...? No? Haha.... yeah..... me neither.....


	11. Chapter 11

Zuko blinks his eyes open to inky darkness, a faint ringing in his ears. 

For a moment, he’s not sure why he’s woken up, but then he realizes that his phone screen is lit up on Sokka’s bedside table. He reaches over, tilting the screen ever so slightly so he can read the notification without blinding himself.

It’s from his email, which is odd, because he doesn’t have notifications on for his email app, unless it’s from—oh, shit. He doesn’t have notifications on for his email except for his father’s address.

Zuko’s instantly awake.

He throws off the covers, swinging his legs out of bed. He tries to move quietly so he doesn’t wake Sokka up, but Sokka seems pretty dead to the world at the moment. 

Zuko’s phone is unlocked in an instant, and he scans the email quickly.

“Shit,” Zuko whispers harshly to himself, heart sinking. “Shit, shit, shit.” Because written in that email is a request for Azula and Zuko to travel home to Japan. Wait—Japan? Ozai wants them to go _home._

Like, actually home? That can’t be right. They haven’t been home in _years._

Attached at the bottom of the email are two plane ticket confirmations, one for Zuko and one for Azula. Zuko zooms in on the flight information with shaking fingers. The plane leaves at eight in the morning, December 22nd. _Fuck._ Today is December 22nd. His flight leaves in—Zuko checks the time at the top of his phone screen— _four and a half hours?_

Zuko heartbeat jackrabbits in his chest. He can’t _leave._ He and Sokka just–

He casts a glance over his shoulder. Sokka’s turned away on his side, but his arm underneath him is bent in an awkward way behind him, stretching out across the mattress—and, oh yeah, they fell asleep holding hands last night.

_Jesus Christ._ How is he supposed to leave Sokka like this?

His first instinct is to _not._ To climb back underneath the covers, slot himself in behind Sokka, and fall asleep. But he looks back down to his phone, at the glaring _8:00am_ flight departure time that shines up at him from the screen.

This type of behaviour isn’t out of the ordinary for Ozai. But usually he’ll give them longer than _four and a half hours_ to get to the airport. 

Something must be wrong.

“Fuck,” Zuko breathes. He has to go home and talk to Azula. Maybe she knows more about what’s happening.

He dresses as quickly and quietly as he can, using his phone’s flashlight on the dimmest setting to find his clothes that are strewn around the room. Once he’s dressed, he crouches down next to Sokka, still out cold and snoring faintly.

“Sokka,” he whispers, rocking Sokka’s shoulders. Sokka sleeps on, so Zuko tries again. “Sokka,” he says, slightly louder this time.

Slowly, Sokka blinks open his eyes, squinting at Zuko in confusion. “Zuko?”

“I have to go,” he says, and Sokka’s expression becomes more confused. “But I’m going to come back, okay? Now go back to sleep. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Sokka tenses as Zuko mentions he’s leaving, but he relaxes back into the bed once Zuko says he’ll be coming back. “Okay,” Sokka says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, and the lie tastes like ash on his tongue. “Everything’s fine.”

Sokka’s eyes are already drooping, too tired to notice the shaking in Zuko’s hands. “Okay. Gimme a kiss good-bye.”

Zuko’s hands might be unsteady, but he’s never been more sure of himself as he leans forward to press his lips to Sokka’s pursed ones. “I’ll be back,” Zuko whispers, and he hopes it’s the truth.

Sokka hums, rearranging himself in bed, pressing his cheek into his pillow. “M’kay. Love you.”

Zuko stares at the boy before him. “Wh—What?”

But Sokka’s already asleep, light snores echoing around the small room.

If Zuko thought his adrenaline was spiking before, it’s nothing compared to what his heart does after Sokka’s sleepy confession. He heard that correctly, right? Or—maybe not. No, he must have misheard. 

In any case, Sokka was half asleep, and Zuko’s not going to hold him to it. Because—Sokka can’t love him. That’s crazy.

Zuko pushes that line of thought away, because he doesn’t have time for it. His father’s email still sits heavily on his mind. He needs to get home and clear this whole thing up.

The drive to his apartment does very little to calm him down, because all he can do is think about _why_ his father is calling him and Azula back home to Japan with little to no warning. Never before has Ozai done this—when his business had concluded in London and they were going back to Canada for the foreseeable future, Zuko had a month to get his affairs in order. And now he’s being given barely over four hours? That makes no sense.

Did Ozai find out about Sokka? That he was being tutored? Zuko’s not sure how he would have—he and Sokka have been extremely careful. With his entire being, Zuko hopes that’s not the case.

By the time Zuko makes it back to the apartment, he’s gone numb. His brain is no longer thinking of a million possibilities as to _why_ Ozai might want them to go home, just the fact that _he did._ Ozai wants them to go back to Japan. And there’s very little that Ozai wants that he doesn’t get.

The thought makes him feel cold.

As he approaches his apartment door, he hears yelling. There’s Azula’s shrill tone, which Zuko is familiar with, but then the voice yelling back is—Aang’s?

Zuko opens the door, and Aang cuts himself off. Aang’s face is red, eyes wild, chest heaving. Zuko can’t remember the last time Aang has raised his voice.

“Aang,” Zuko says faintly. “Are you alright?”

“ _No,_ Zuko,” Aang bites out. “I’m not alright. Because _your sister_ just told me that Ozai ended the lease on the apartment and that I have until the end of the month to pack my shit and leave.”

“Well, actually,” Azula interrupts, “the movers will be here at ten to empty the place out, so. Might want to do something about that.”

Zuko feels his mouth drop open. “What?” he asks, turning to Azula.

“Did you not read the email, Zuzu?” Azula asks condescendingly. “We’re leaving. We don’t have any need for this apartment anymore. Father didn’t think he needed to waste any time getting the movers in. You _do_ want your book collection in Tokyo, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Zuko says, taken aback. “But–”

“So, you really are leaving?” Aang asks. He looks over at Zuko with wide, betrayed eyes. “Zuko, what the fuck?”

“Aang, I don’t get what the problem is. Won’t you be coming with us?”

“No!” Aang exclaims. “Because Ozai cut Roku out of their partnership, like, overnight. Roku called and explained the best he could, but he said he was totally blindsided. He also told me he could book me a flight back home if I wanted. But I already agreed to go to Iqaluit with Katara for the holidays. So I’m staying.” Aang turns back on Azula with a nasty glare. “It would be nice if I had some furniture to stay on, though.”

Azula shrugs, the movement dainty and wholly unbothered. How she looks so put together when she’s still in her pajamas, Zuko will never understand.

“Sokka invited me up north, too,” Zuko finds himself saying, because throughout all the commotion, he’d almost forgotten. “I said I’d go.”

“Really?” Aang looks hopeful at this new information. “Okay, Zuko, that’s perfect. We’ll go to Iqaluit together. You don’t have to go back to Japan.”

Azula’s gaze slices over to Zuko, and Zuko can feel it like a sharp stabbing pain in his chest. “You can’t just _not_ go where Father says to go,” she snaps. “That’s not how this works.”

“You stayed in London for almost two months before coming to Canada,” Aang retaliates.

“Yes,” Azula replies, not taking her eyes off Zuko. “And I had permission. I had business to attend to. But now father wants both of us to come home. Zuko, you need to come with me.”

Aang rolls his eyes. “Sure, Azula, whatever.” He turns to Zuko. “You don’t need to listen to her. You _don’t_ need to go home just because your dad _summoned_ you.” His tone turns into something softer, pleading. “You told Sokka you’d spend the break with him. So, let’s go together. Please, Zuko. You don’t need to go.”

Azula steps closer to Zuko, and she reminds him of a viper—perceptive, careful, waiting for the right moment to strike. “Zuko. This is your opportunity to go _home_. Think about it. Father’s kept the estate in pristine condition—we’ll be able to walk right in the front door like we never left.” She pauses, wrapping her fingers gently around Zuko’s upper arm. Zuko thinks this must be the closest they’ve ever been in _years._

“I need you to come with me, Zuko.,” Azula presses. “Just imagine—tomorrow, we’ll be in Tokyo. Back home. During _Christmastime,_ no less. And I know you’ve always loved _Oshogatsu_.”

Zuko turns away from both Azula and Aang’s searching gazes. This is _so much_ to process. Last night had been so wonderful, it was like a dream. And now he’s woken up to something out of a nightmare. Never in his life did he ever think he would have to make a choice like this.

Actually—wait. That’s not entirely true, is it?

This all seems very familiar to another night in Montreal, back when Zuko and Aang were much younger, staying with Uncle Iroh. Uncle had wanted Zuko to stay with him when Ozai told him they needed to go to Thailand. 

Uncle told Zuko that he had money saved, that Zuko could go to university here in Canada. When the time came, he could do whatever he wanted without his father’s financial support. He had emphasized that even though Ozai was leaving, it didn’t mean Zuko had to do the same.

But Zuko had been young, and unwilling to go against his father, still terrified of the possible repercussions. The last time Zuko had been defiant, he’d been given a permanent lesson to never speak out again, right on his face. He wasn’t exactly looking for a repeat situation.

So he’d left. And he’ll never be able to forget the disappointed look that Uncle gave him as he packed his bags. It’s branded into his memory.

And here he is again.

He’s been given two options and is forced to choose between them. His heart on one side, but logic on the other. A dream versus cold, hard reality.

“Zuko,” Aang says, full out begging now. “ _Please,_ you don’t have to–”

Azula speaks right over Aang, tone consoling as she addresses Zuko. Her hand is still on his arm. “I told you this would happen, Zuzu. You shouldn’t have gotten close to the people here. We were always going to leave—this place was temporary. It was only going to end in heartbreak. You knew that going into it.”

Zuko supposed that he did know that in a way. But he never could have predicted Sokka. A bright and energetic physics major who somehow managed to wiggle right into the space next to his heart. Who Zuko was sure would stay in that crevice for as long as he would live.

Zuko opens his eyes, looking up at Aang’s pleading gaze. For a moment, Zuko thinks of what it would be like to go with Aang, Katara, and Sokka to Nunavut, what it would be like to spend the winter break with Sokka’s family. When Sokka described it, it sounded like a dream.

He has to look away, so he finds himself meeting Azula’s eye. Zuko thinks he almost sees panic, or maybe fear there, but from one second to the next, her expression has smoothed out.

She raises an eyebrow expectantly. “We need to be at the airport by five. And you still need to pack.”

Zuko looks back at Aang; his shoulders are slumped, eyes somber. He’s a sad contrast against Azula, who’s smirking slightly like she knows she’s already won. He has to shut his eyes again against both of their demanding gazes and the disappointment that’s sure to follow no matter which one he chooses.

Zuko knew that spending the holidays with Sokka would have been a dream. But at the end of the day, that’s all it was: a dream.

Azula’s right, as always. He should have known that something as wonderful and good and perfect as Sokka could never last. Good things have never lasted before for Zuko, so why would they start now?

Zuko opens his eyes. He looks over to his friend. “I’m sorry, Aang.”

“Zuko, _please_ –”

“I have to go home,” Zuko says with a shake of his head, steamrolling right over him. “I hope I’ll see you soon.”

Aang spends the next half hour begging, pleading for Zuko not to go. But Zuko pays him no mind as he packs his bags. He’s made up his mind. He has to go home. He’s not even sure why it was ever a question to begin with. His father told him he had to go home, so he was going home. It was a no-brainer.

“What about Sokka, huh?” Aang asks. It’s basically been different iterations of this, over and over for the past thirty minutes. “Something’s changed between you two, I can tell. And now you’re leaving for Tokyo in the middle of the night? Zuko, even you know that’s a fucked up thing to do.”

Zuko refuses to reply, because he can’t engage with Aang’s questions right now. If he thinks too hard about his choice, he’s going to have a breakdown. All he can focus on at the moment is packing his clothes into the suitcase he’s laid out on his floor, making it to the airport, and boarding the plane.

Aang is silent for a moment, and Zuko can feel Aang’s angry eyes boring into the back of his head. “So that’s it then? You’re leaving.” Aang scoffs. “You know, you’re a lot of things, Zuko, but I never had you pegged as a coward.”

“Don’t you dare call me a coward!” Zuko snaps, and when he looks over at Aang, the other boy only looks slightly apologetic. “You think this is easy for me? This choice? It’s _not,_ Aang.” 

For a moment, they just glare at each other, but Aang doesn’t back down. Zuko’s shoulders slump. “What am I supposed to do? It’s… It’s my _father._ ”

Aang’s eyes soften slightly. “I know, Zuko. I know.”

“I can’t just _not_ —I can’t.”

Aang sighs. “I wish you knew that you didn’t have to do everything he tells you to do. He’s only one man, Zuko.”

Zuko snorts at that, because while his father is many things, _only one man_ is not one of them. He continues packing, getting to his feet and rifling through his sock drawer. He has to pause, because at the bottom is a familiar box, one that he’d put there not even a week ago. 

God, he can’t believe he almost forgot about Sokka’s Christmas gift. He’s not going to be here to give it to him anymore. _Fuck._ Slowly, he turns to Aang, box clutched in shaking fingers. 

Aang looks over at Zuko as he sits back down at his suitcase. He must be able to read whatever expression is playing across his features, because he straightens slightly and asks, “Zuko?” 

Zuko holds out the box. “I need you to give this to Sokka. Please.”

Aang hesitantly takes the box, sliding off the lid and peering inside. He gasps. “Oh my god, Zuko, the bracelet. It’s… beautiful.”

“Will you give it to him?” Zuko asks, because he needs Aang to say yes. He’d wanted to be there to watch Sokka’s face as he opened it, but it seems like that’s not going to be possible anymore. 

With a shake of his head, Aang holds the box out to Zuko. “You should give it to him yourself.”

Zuko refuses to take back the box. “Aang, I can’t. You _know_ I can’t.”

“Zuko–”

“ _Please,_ ” Zuko says. “Please, Aang. I need—I need you to do this for me. Even if I’m not—he still deserves this. Please.”

Aang looks back down to the box in his hands, fiddling with the edge of the lid. “You really should be the one to give it to him, Zuko.”

“I know. But I can’t. So _please._ Please give it to him. For me.”

“You really don’t think you’re going to see him again, do you? _Jesus,_ Zuko.”

“I–” Zuko swallows thickly. “Don’t make this harder. You know why I have to go.”

“I do,” Aang replies quietly. He sighs, shaking his head again. “Fine. _Fine._ I’ll give it to him. Even though I think you’re making a mistake by leaving.”

Zuko barely registers Aang’s words through the sheer relief that courses through him. “Thank you. _Thank you_.” Even if Zuko won’t be there, Sokka will still get the bracelet, and that’ll have to be enough. 

Once that’s squared away, Zuko returns to packing. Aang stops trying to convince him, but he sits with Zuko in his room all the same, watching him resignedly. His knee is pulled up into his chest, his head resting on top of it, eyes half-lidded.

“Why are you even awake?” Zuko asks softly.

Aang is quiet for a long while. Zuko thinks that maybe Aang is too angry to reply, but then he answers, “I had just gotten back from dancing with Katara. Azula wasted no time in telling me about the lease ending at the end of December.”

It’s silent between them for a moment. “I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Zuko says finally.

“Not your fault,” Aang whispers. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with Appa, though.”

“Shit,” Zuko says faintly.

“Yeah.”

Zuko folds a pair of jeans into his luggage, rolling up a belt right beside it. “Sokka’s apartment allows pets,” he finds himself saying.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Aang says.

Zuko drops the sweater he’d been about to put into his bag and turns to Aang.

Aang holds up a hand before Zuko can get into it with him. “I know, I know. But… what the hell are you going to tell Sokka, man?”

Zuko doesn’t answer.

“You _are_ going to tell him, aren’t you?”

“He’s sleeping,” Zuko says.

“So tell him before he wakes up,” Aang says. “ _Zuko._ You better tell him.”

“I will,” Zuko says, because it’s the only way to make Aang drop the subject.

“Good,” Aang replies.

“He’s going to be fine,” Zuko says, and he’s not sure if he’s saying it to assure Aang or himself. “We barely knew each other.” There’s a tiny voice in the back of his mind saying that Sokka might be the only person besides Aang who knows him so well. “He probably didn’t even want me to go to Iqaluit with him anyway.” Zuko pointedly ignores the memory of Sokka’s hopeful eyes when he asked Zuko to join him. “He’ll be fine without me.”

Aang only shakes his head at Zuko, as if he can tell that Zuko doesn’t believe what he’s saying either. “I still think you’re making a really big mistake,” he says.

“I have to go,” Zuko tells Aang. “I can’t _not._ ”

“Yeah, so you’ve said,” Aang says, sounding unbelievably tired.

Azula finally makes an appearance, and Zuko wonders why it took her so long to show up. She taps her long nails against the edge of Zuko’s door frame. “Are you ready? The driver Father sent is waiting downstairs.”

“Already?” Aang asks. He sounds completely gutted.

“That was quick,” Zuko comments, but when he thinks about how fast the rest of the early morning has gone, he’s not too surprised. For whatever reason, Ozai wants them out of Montreal as fast as he can, with Zuko and Azula helpless to follow his orders.

“He wastes no time,” Azula agrees. “Let’s go.”

Fully packed, or at least as much as he can be in such a short time frame, Zuko zips his bag shut. As he stands, Aang mirrors him. Zuko’s surprised to see tears brimming in Aang’s eyes.

“Cut that out,” Zuko says sharply.

Aang only steps forward, wrapping Zuko into what might be the strongest hug Aang has ever given him. “I love you, Zuko. I wish you weren’t doing this, but that doesn’t change anything. I love you.”

Zuko hates that he’s starting to feel choked up too. _This_ is exactly the reason he can’t tell Sokka. Because then he’d never leave. Aang is already making this hard enough. He hugs Aang close, arms tight around his back. “I love you, too.”

“Touching,” Azula says in a bored tone from behind them.

Aang finally starts to pull back, holding Zuko at arm’s length. “Be safe.”

Zuko squeezes Aang’s elbow. “You too. Have fun—” he’s about to say _with Sokka and Katara_ , but chokes back Sokka’s name. He doesn’t want to think about Sokka right now. He _can’t_ think about Sokka right now. “Have fun in Iqaluit.”

“I will.”

Aang walks the two of them to the front door, watching warily as they grab their bags. Appa even joins, looking up at Zuko with confused eyes, like he’s wondering what Zuko is doing with a suitcase in hand.

“I’ll see you soon, boy,” Zuko says. After a moment’s hesitation, he crouches down, holding out a beckoning hand towards the dog. Appa comes bounding over, panting happily as Zuko scratches him behind the ears.

It’s over all too soon.

“Let’s _go_ , Zuko,” Azula demands. She’s already halfway out the door.

Zuko gives two last pats to the top of Appa’s head and stands up. He meets Aang’s eyes—in them is a mixture of sadness, anger, understanding, and disappointment.

They’ve already said everything they can to each other, so Zuko just nods at him. Aang nods back.

Zuko turns to his sister. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

The drive to the airport is a somber one. The car’s atmosphere is as dark as it is outside, muffled and quiet under the cloak of early morning.

Zuko doesn’t allow his mind to wander. The numbness he had started to feel as he came back to the apartment has sunk back in, and he stares directly out the front windshield. The overhead street lights fade in and out along the highway. There are barely any other vehicles on the road for Zuko to focus on.

Azula speaks only once. She reaches across the seat to squeeze Zuko’s hand. “You’re doing the right thing, Zuko.”

Zuko looks down at his hand under Azula’s as if it’s someone else’s. He doesn’t reply, and eventually Azula pulls her hand away.

She doesn’t try to assure him again. As they arrive at the airport, Zuko lets her take the lead. He follows her to the front desk to get their bags checked, hands over his passport when the receptionist asks for it, and waits as their boarding passes are printed. It all feels very distant, like it’s happening to someone else.

But, Zuko notes wryly, at least his hands aren’t shaking anymore.

Once they’re through security, Azula gently pushes Zuko into a seat near their gate.

She must notice something off about him, because she rests a hand on his shoulder, leaning closer. “I’m going to go get us some coffee, okay?”

Zuko can only nod.

“Watch my bag,” she says, and then she’s gone.

Zuko barely registers the time passing. There’s the sounds of people settling into the chairs around him, the occasional beeping from those strange vehicles used to transport older couples to far away gates. The TV across from him drones on quietly about international news, but Zuko can’t focus on the moving pictures, or even the headlines that flash across the bottom.

The only reason he knows that Azula’s returned is the iced coffee she presses into his hand, shocking him back to the moment.

“Drink up,” she says, raising her own cup to her mouth.

Zuko does as he’s told, raising the green straw to his lips. He doesn’t quite take a sip, because then there’s an announcement over the PA system that makes him pause. It’s an invitation for all passengers sitting in Business Class to please board promptly.

Azula bounces to her feet, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “That’s us.” 

She eyes Zuko for a moment, watching him carefully. Finally, she holds out a hand, palm up. It takes Zuko an embarrassingly long time to figure out that she wants to help him to his feet.

Zuko considers the offer, and decides that he probably wouldn’t be able to stand without help. So he puts his hand in hers, and she hauls him up with surprising strength. Zuko wonders when the last time was that he touched his sister willingly. Must have been a long time ago.

He gives the man at the desk his passport and boarding pass. The man’s gaze lingers on Zuko’s scar for a moment, Zuko can tell, but he can’t even muster up a scowl for the man like he usually does. In the end, the man just gives Zuko a bland smile, wishes him a good trip, and waves him through.

The seats in what Air Canada calls _Business Class_ are pitifully cramped, but they’re better than whatever is going on in Economy, so Zuko doesn’t complain. Azula, on the other hand, gives their assigned seats a distasteful look, making a noise that sounds a lot like disgust.

“We have a layover in Vancouver,” Azula tells Zuko. “First Class will be much better when the seats actually fold down.”

Zuko still doesn’t reply, choosing instead to look out the frosty window, watching as the airport crew workers set up to de-ice the plane’s wings. It takes a while for the entire plane to fill up, so Zuko gets his phone out and puts his headphones in. He does it all with one hand, because he’s still holding the iced coffee that Azula bought him. Once he’s set up, he finally takes a sip of the drink. He almost spits it right back out.

“Is this… peppermint-flavoured?” Zuko asks, barely audible.

Azula raises her eyebrows, popping out one of her earbuds. “Hmm?”

Zuko clears his throat. “Did you get me a mint iced coffee?”

“What?” Azula asks, looking down at the drink like she’s never seen it before in her life. “Oh, yeah. I thought it might wake you up a little bit more. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to drink it.”

“I–” Zuko cuts himself off, because how is he supposed to explain that he doesn’t mind the flavour, it just caught him off guard? Because he likes mint, and the last time he tasted it was last night, on Sokka’s breath, his lips, his tongue. He’d practically gotten drunk on it.

His mind racing, Zuko realizes that his hands are shaking again. He almost spills the drink as he sets it on the floor between him and Azula, because now that he’s finally allowed himself to think of Sokka, it’s the only thing he can do.

He thinks of Sokka grinning at him from the passenger side of his car, Sokka’s strong arms around him as he cheated Zuko out of winning their race. The way Sokka’s hand felt against his cheek as he traced his scar and whispered _you’re beautiful._

And Zuko had left him.

Without even explaining himself.

_Fuck._

Zuko unlocks his phone, thumbing open his and Sokka’s text conversation. The last text is Sokka’s message congratulating Zuko on being done and reminding him about their dinner plans at Applebee’s. Zuko’s next breath gets caught in his throat.

He starts to type up a message, not even sure what he’s even trying to say, but then a flight attendant is poking her head over the seats in front of them. “The plane is about to take off, sir. Please put your phone on airplane mode.”

“But–” Zuko tries to protest.

“Sir,” the woman says, giving him a no-nonsense glare. “Right away, please.”

“I–” Zuko tries again, but the woman shakes her head. He’s never met a flight attendant that was such a stickler for the rules, but he closes the messaging app and goes into his settings to turn on airplane mode. He turns his phone to the woman, just to get her to leave. “Happy?”

“Thank you, sir,” she says, and then she finally shuffles out from the seats ahead of them, strutting down the aisle to the front of the plane.

Azula watches her go with a smirk. “I like her.”

“Thanks for the help, sis,” Zuko bites out.

“You’re welcome,” Azula replies with a grin.

Zuko stares forlornly down at his phone, at his one last connection to Sokka. He can’t believe he _left_ him, asleep and unaware of where Zuko would be. 

He _needs_ to tell Sokka. Airplane mode is turned off and the messaging app pulled back up in a matter of seconds.

There’s no time for a long message, so he types out two simple words.

_I’m sorry._

Zuko stares out the window as the plane starts to back up, slowly making its way onto the runway. His phone still doesn’t show that the message has been delivered, the loading wheel spinning in the top corner of the screen. 

God, he hopes that it’ll send before they take off.

_Fuck._ He told Sokka he’d be right back. And now he’s on a flight to a different country.

What has he done?

* * *

Sokka wakes up slowly, stretching languidly across the mattress as he blinks his eyes open to the morning light streaming through his window. 

With searching fingers, Sokka pats across to the other side of the bed, because he and Zuko _slept together_ last night. He had thought that Zuko only wanted to be friends, but _boy,_ was he wrong. He’d been so, so wrong.

Last night had been _perfect._ Well—not perfect. There had been a lot of fumbling, and awkward silences, and laughter, but that’s what _made_ it perfect. And Zuko had even agreed to go home with him. He hopes that he didn’t come across too strong with the invitation, but Sokka just wants to spend time with his favourite person in his favourite place. It’s going to be so fun.

Sokka’s thoughts are derailed as he reaches as far as the opposite side of the mattress, with no sign of Zuko. His head whips around before his brain has processed the fact that Zuko’s gone.

A spike of adrenaline courses through Sokka as he finally processes it. Zuko’s gone. Zuko _left?_ But he thought they were finally on the same page.

_Okay,_ Sokka thinks to himself. _Let’s not get ahead of myself, here. Maybe he’s in the bathroom. Or in the kitchen._

Sokka can’t hear anything outside of his room, but he supposes that isn’t indicative of whether or not Zuko is actually out there or not. He needs to go look to be sure.

Before he slides out of bed, he can’t help but notice that Zuko’s side of the bed has gone cold. If he is in the living room, he’s been out there for a while. It’s not even ten in the morning, yet.

Sokka cracks open his door. “Zuko?” he whispers into the main area of the apartment.

There’s no response.

He steps out, the floorboards cold on his bare feet. The door to the bathroom is open, but it’s dark inside. Sokka flicks on the light anyway, even going so far as to check behind the shower curtain. Unsurprisingly, Zuko is not there.

Unwilling to believe that Zuko actually _left_ , Sokka checks Katara’s room. Katara is sound asleep when he pushes her door open. She’s sprawled across her bed, hair just as much a mess as her sheets and duvet. 

Zuko isn’t in here, either, because of course he isn’t. 

Sokka ventures into the living room. There’s zero places to hide in here, so Sokka can tell instantly that Zuko’s not here. To drive it fully home, Sokka sees that the door to the apartment is unlocked, the chain dangling from its fastening on the door.

“Fuck,” Sokka whispers.

He pads back into his room, picking up his phone from his nightstand. Maybe there was an emergency and Zuko texted him.

The thought of an emergency twigs something in his brain. The memory is faint and blurry, hazy around the edges like something out of a dream. He remembers Zuko shaking him awake, remembers that he could barely tell it was him because his room was still so dark. Zuko told him that he had to go, but that he’d be back. He _promised_ he’d be back.

So, maybe whatever Zuko had to do in the early morning hours was taking him longer to do than expected. Sokka wonders what that could even be—it’s not like he was in a coherent state to ask what the hell Zuko was doing before the sun came up.

Sokka hopes that Zuko’s okay, because Zuko hasn’t texted him otherwise. The only notification on his phone is a spam email sent to his university account.

Sokka decides to text him anyway. 

_hey, is everything okay?_

There isn’t an immediate response—it doesn’t even say that his message was delivered—so he sends another one. 

_hope you’re alright._

He feels so useless, standing here, not knowing where Zuko is or why he had to leave in the middle of the night. He’d text Aang, but he’s pretty sure Aang will be asleep after a late night of dancing, so he refrains. Surely it’s not a big deal. _Surely_ Zuko will be back eventually. He said he would, after all.

Sokka’s stomach grumbles, so he goes back out to the kitchen to fix himself something to eat. He’d imagined this morning very differently. He thought about making pancakes for Zuko from scratch, with some fruit and yogurt. If there were enough oranges in the fridge, he thought he’d even make orange juice.

But when he gets to the kitchen, he sees that his and Zuko’s ice cream bowls are still laid out from last night, untouched and completely melted.

“Oh, gross,” Sokka laughs to himself. It’s made worse by the fact that Momo is lapping up the contents of what used to be Zuko’s bowl. When he looks up, Sokka can see that the fur around his mouth is completely drenched in light green cream. Momo’s tongue stretches out to lick the bit that’s gotten on his nose. “You are a disgusting gremlin cat,” Sokka says, and Momo meows as if to say, _I know, but hey._ “Once a dumpster baby, always a dumpster baby, I guess.” He scoops Momo off the counter, much to Momo’s annoyance, and cleans off the cat’s mouth before he can get it all over his furniture.

Once the cat is no longer dripping with melted ice cream, Sokka sets him back to the floor. Momo promptly disappears, briefly traumatized by needing to be clean. “You’re welcome,” Sokka calls out to the retreating cat. Momo mews back at him angrily, then slips into Sokka’s room, probably to rip up one of his pillows out of spite. Sokka rolls his eyes.

He cleans out the two bowls just to have something to do with his hands. 

Once he’s done, he checks the time on the microwave and sees that it’s after ten, now. It’s been a while since he sent Zuko those texts, and he almost drops his phone out of his pocket in his haste to see if he’s responded. There’s no notifications from Zuko on the screen, and Sokka’s heart sinks.

Okay, now Sokka’s getting kind of worried. He hopes Zuko is okay.

He takes another moment to stare down at his phone screen, hoping a text will come through solely through sheer willpower. Minutes pass, and nothing comes through.

“Zuko,” he whispers. “Where are you?”

There’s a knock on the door, and Sokka’s heart leaps into his throat. _Zuko’s back!_ He must have been driving, and that’s why he never saw any of Sokka’s texts. Sokka briefly wonders why he bothered knocking when he was the one who left the door unlocked to begin with, but then he’s opening the door, ready to pull Zuko into a great big kiss—

Except Zuko isn’t the one on the other side of the door.

“Aang?” Sokka asks, momentarily thrown. “What are you doing here? How’d you even get up here?”

Aang looks absolutely terrible; his under eyes are smudged with darkness, shoulders slumped. He’s carrying two yoga mats under one arm, one doing its best to unfurl. At his feet is one large bag that Aang must have dropped as soon as he got to Sokka’s door.

“Hey, Sokka,” Aang says.

“Do you know where Zuko is?” Sokka can’t help but ask. “He left this morning, like, super early, and I haven’t heard from him since. Is he okay?”

Aang, if it’s even possible, seems to deflate even further. “He didn’t call you? Or at least send a text?”

Sokka shakes his head. “Why? What happened?”

Aang lists sideways until he’s leaning against the wall near Sokka’s door, and Sokka has to step out of his apartment to see Aang’s face. He looks miserable.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Aang whispers. “I’m going to fucking _murder_ him.”

“ _Why?_ ” Sokka asks. “What the hell is going on? And–” Sokka belatedly takes in the bag Aang has brought with him. “Why do you have all this stuff with you?”

Aang just shuts his eyes, head still resting against the peeling paint of the hallway walls. When he opens his eyes again, they’re resigned, and a little bit sad. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, wondering why he didn’t offer sooner. “Of course.” He picks up the bag at Aang’s feet, even grabbing the unfurling yoga mat from under his arm before it falls to the floor.

Sokka puts the duffel bag behind the couch so there’s still enough room to walk around, setting the mat on top of it. Aang moves to hold his yoga mat to his chest like he doesn’t want to let go of it, so Sokka doesn’t try to take it.

“Hey,” Sokka says softly, resting a hand on Aang’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I—um.” Aang blinks a couple times, and the vaguely shellshocked look in his eyes vanishes. “Not really, Sokka.”

Sokka doesn’t know what to do with that answer. “Okay, uh… Let’s start with why you showed up at my apartment with a very large bag.”

Aang looks over at the bags on the floor distantly. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You—you what? What happened to the apartment?”

“Fuck,” Aang says. “I’m explaining this all wrong. God, I want to kill Zuko so bad.”

“What does Zuko have to do with this?”

Aang sighs. “Let’s sit down.”

If it would give him answers, Sokka would do a goddamn cartwheel. Scratch that—he’d fumble through an entire gymnastics routine. He’ll take sitting on the couch over that.

Aang sits cross legged on the couch across from him, still clutching his yoga mat like a lifeline. Once they’re both settled, Aang starts talking.

“Zuko left. He and Azula went back to Japan. Tokyo.”

Sokka stares at Aang, uncomprehending. “What.”

Aang sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “This morning, Ozai sent them an email basically demanding their presence in Japan. And what Ozai wants, he gets.”

“But–” Sokka wants to protest. Zuko said he’d be back. He said that everything was _fine._ “No, that can’t be right. He said he’d come up to Iqaluit with us. He wouldn’t have left.”

Aang shakes his head sadly. “He’s gone, Sokka. His flight left at eight.”

“So he went back for the holidays? But–”

“Sokka,” Aang says, and he suddenly looks very serious. “He went back home. Not for the holidays. For good.”

Sokka’s heart stutters. “For… For _good?_ ”

“This is the way it goes,” Aang says, faintly bitter. “Ozai tells them where to go, books them a flight, and they snap to attention.”

Sokka starts to laugh, because this is _ridiculous._ “He wouldn’t just up and leave,” Sokka says. “It’s the middle of the school year. That makes no sense, Aang. And—he would have told me. He would have _told me_ if he was leaving for Japan and never coming back!”

“I told him to tell you,” Aang says, vaguely pleading like he wants Sokka to believe him. “He very obviously didn’t.” He mutters something under his breath that Sokka can’t quite make out, because it’s finally starting to sink in that Zuko _left._

When Sokka thought that Zuko left this morning, he thought he’d gone out to get breakfast or something. Never in a million years would he think that Zuko was on his way back to _Japan_. That was halfway across the world.

Wait—when did Aang say Zuko left? Eight? Sokka scrambles to check the time. Half past ten. Zuko’s been in the air for two and a half hours. Sokka doesn’t know exactly when Zuko had left—all he remembers is Zuko saying that he’d be back, and to go back to sleep. 

But the thing is—Zuko had _time_ to tell Sokka what was happening. And yet, he said nothing. Not a text, not a voicemail. Nothing.

What the _fuck?_

“He’s really gone?” Sokka whispers. He doesn’t want to believe it, but why would Aang lie about this?

But—Zuko said he would be _right back._ And Sokka had believed him. He _let him go._

“He’s really gone,” Aang repeats somberly.

Sokka doesn’t know how to feel about this. He’s hurt. Betrayed. Zuko said he’d go to Iqaluit with him, and Sokka had been _so happy_ at Zuko’s agreement. And now Zuko was gone.

“And I’m really sorry for showing up like this,” Aang says, and now he sounds plain tired. “It all happened so fast. The movers showed up at ten, just as Azula said they would. Good thing I know she’d never bluff like that and spent the morning packing.” Aang pauses for a moment, eyes unfocused as he stares at the wall. “Fuck. What a terrible morning.”

Sokka does a double take. “Wait, have you even slept?”

“No,” Aang answers. “I got home after the Uber dropped off Katara, and Azula was already awake, like she was just _waiting_ to drop the news.”

“Holy shit, Aang,” Sokka says. He can’t even begin to imagine what he’s been through in the past eight hours. “You can stay here. No problem. We, um. We fly to Iqaluit on Monday, anyway.”

“Thanks, Sokka,” Aang breathes. “I’m so sorry that I’m the one who had to tell you. I’m sorry Zuko left in the first place.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sokka says softly, but his heart hurts all the same.

“No,” Aang says. “I suppose not. I, uh, decided to drop Appa off at a dog hotel. At least until we get back from Iqaluit, and I figure out what to do.”

“Okay,” Sokka says. “You’re welcome here whenever, Aang. Appa too. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” Aang smiles tiredly over at Sokka. “Thanks, man.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and it slowly starts to sink in that what Aang’s saying is true. But there’s still something that’s niggling in the back of Sokka’s brain. Something that doesn’t make sense.

“I don’t understand something,” Sokka says. It’s not quite a question, but Aang looks up, eyebrow quirked. “Zuko doesn’t like his father. He told me about—stuff that happened in his childhood. Zuko’s gone through so much at his father’s hand—so why would he up and leave for Tokyo at the drop of his hat? I don’t get it.”

Aang hums, acknowledging the question. He’s quiet for a long time, and Sokka can tell that he’s trying to figure out how to answer that question.

“The thing you need to understand about Zuko is that he has a very complicated relationship with his father. Like, I’m sure you knew that, but it is _unbelievably_ complicated. Probably the most complicated relationship in the history of complicated relationships.” He sighs. “Ozai is not a good man. And Zuko knows that. You _know_ that he knows that, Zuko told you that himself. But he still wants to please the guy. He still craves his father’s approval.”

“I thought he didn’t care what his father thought of him,” Sokka says.

“What?” Aang actually starts to laugh at that. “Sokka, he had you tutor him in secret so Ozai wouldn’t find out he wasn’t doing great in that physics class. To keep Azula from finding out, you pretended to be his boyfriend!”

Sokka opens his mouth to protest, but finds no words coming out. He has nothing to protest with, because Aang is completely right.

He slumps back into the couch, raking his hands through his hair. God, it was just last night that _Zuko_ was the one running his hands through his hair, kissing down his neck–

_Fuck._ Zuko fucking left. He’s gone.

“But…” Sokka still doesn’t want to fully believe it. “Zuko said he went to therapy to work through all that stuff with his family.”

“Well, _sure_ ,” Aang replies. “But a few years of therapy isn’t going to magically erase twenty years of trauma.”

Sokka exhales shakily. “Fair point.”

“Sokka, the Zuko you know is the best version of Zuko I’ve ever seen. He’s happier. He _smiles_ more. You should see him when he talks about you. He turns into the human version of a marshmallow.”

Sokka isn’t going to cry. He’s not going to fucking cry. Something in his chest solidifies, and it feels a lot like ice. “Why are you telling me this?”

Aang sags slightly, eyes sad. His hand comes up to squeeze Sokka’s arm. “You deserve to know.”

“He left, Aang. He’s not coming back.” Abruptly, Sokka stands from the couch. He grabs one of the pillows from the couch behind him and throws it with all his strength at the wall. “ _Fuck!_ ”

The door to Katara’s bedroom flies open, and Katara herself comes stumbling out. She’s rubbing at her eyes, still in her pajamas, clearly having come straight from bed. “Sokka, we have a _rule._ Saturdays are for–” She cuts herself off when she finally opens her eyes, quickly cataloguing the pillow on the floor, Aang sitting on the couch, a duffel bag and a yoga mat stacked against the back of the couch. “What… what’s going on? Aang, why are you here?” She looks closer at Sokka, and she must realize that he’s on the verge of tears, because she steps forward. “What’s wrong? Where’s Zuko? His car was here when I got in last night.”

Sokka stares across the room at his sister. She looks so concerned, but there’s no way that Sokka is in the right headspace to explain this to her right now.

No, right now, he needs to be alone. He’s not going to let Katara see him cry. Not about this.

Sokka stalks towards his room, pushing past Katara and slamming the door behind him.

He sits on the edge of his bed. The bed that’s still unbelievably messed up from last night, the sheets pulling loose from the edge of the mattress. His duvet is sprawled across the floor at the foot of his bed, because Zuko runs hot when he sleeps, even in the winter. Which is a fact that Sokka now knows, because Zuko had been his own personal space heater last night.

And now Zuko’s gone. Probably halfway across the Pacific Ocean, by now, for all Sokka knows.

He holds his phone in his lap. His fingers are moving on their own accord, and before he even realizes, he’s calling Zuko’s number and raising the phone to his ear. The line doesn’t even ring—it goes straight to voicemail.

Never once has Sokka’s calls to Zuko gone to voicemail. He’s almost shocked by Zuko’s voice coming across the line, professional as he tells the listener to leave a message, and he’ll get back to them as soon as possible. There’s a beep, and for a moment, Sokka has to remind himself to breathe. He doesn’t want to leave a voicemail, he wants to talk to Zuko for real. After a few very long seconds, he hangs up.

_Fuck._

He supposes he should feel anger. Rage. He knows he threw that pillow at the wall, but he wasn’t exactly _angry._ More frustrated, and annoyed at the fact that Zuko left without saying anything. They could have had a conversation about this, at least. Sokka would have been willing to try the whole long distance thing for Zuko. But Zuko hadn’t even given him the chance.

And that hurt.

If Zuko didn’t actually want to be with Sokka, he could have just _said_ that.

Sokka sighs, fiddling with his phone once again. Without even realizing it, he’s pulling up Toph’s contact and pressing _call._

As it often does, it goes to voicemail, and as it often does, her voicemail greeting makes him smile. “ _Yeah, this is Toph’s phone. Unless your name is Sokka, don’t bother leaving a voicemail. I won’t check it.”_ There’s a beep, and Sokka freezes. 

He didn’t think this through at all. He still hasn’t really told Toph anything about Zuko, but right now, she’s the only one he wants to talk about it with. He just wants to hear her voice.

“Hey Toph, it’s Sokka,” he says. His name comes out hoarse, so he clears his throat. He hopes she can’t hear how shaky his voice is, but considering it’s Toph, he sincerely doubts it. “I, um. Fuck. So, something happened, and I haven’t really told you about him yet, but I’ve known him for a while and I really like him but now he’s _gone_ and I–” Sokka forces himself to stop his rambling. “I just really need to talk to you. Like the old days. So. Call me back. Please. Okay, bye.” 

When he ends the call, he throws his phone across his bed so he physically can’t try dialling Zuko again.

Zuko’s on a plane. Meaning he can’t pick up Sokka’s calls. Which _also_ means that he’s literally on a plane, flying away from Sokka. What do they even need to talk about? Zuko’s already said everything he needs to, even without words.

So, no. Sokka’s not angry.

As he sits on his bed, staring out his frosty window, he just feels horribly empty.


	12. Chapter 12

The next few days pass in a blur.

Sokka keeps himself busy between packing, typing out texts to Zuko then deleting them before they can be sent, and running to the store for last minute travel necessities.

Well, necessities isn’t quite the right word. He doesn’t _actually_ need to buy tiny bottles for his shampoo to make it past airport security—his dad definitely has shampoo back at home—but he needs something to do that isn’t sitting around his apartment.

Because if Zuko’s going to pretend that their night together meant nothing, then Sokka can pretend too. If Zuko won’t call him back or even send him a single text, then why should Sokka waste his time trying to reach out when Zuko clearly isn’t bothering to?

So Sokka does what he does best: he doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t think about it. He forces himself to pretend Zuko never existed.

God, he wishes Toph would call him back already. He wants to talk about this with someone—preferably Zuko, but he’s _not picking up his damn phone_ —and he definitely doesn’t want to talk about it with Aang or Katara. They both keep on giving him sad looks whenever he passes them.

Aang tries to talk to him about Zuko exactly once.

“Sokka, I think you need to know that Zuko–”

“No.”

Aang suddenly looks wrong-footed. “No?”

“I don’t want to talk about him, Aang. Don’t talk to me about him for the next two weeks.”

“But–”

Sokka holds up a hand. “If that sentence includes the word Zuko, I don’t want to hear it.”

Aang’s jaw clacks shut. He stares at Sokka. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Aang throws his hands up in the air. “ _Fine!_ All you guys do is _avoid things._ You two _deserve_ each other.” Then he stalks off, locking himself in Katara’s room. 

Sokka would take offense, but Aang doesn’t mention Zuko again, and Sokka is incredibly grateful.

By the time they’re on the plane to Iqaluit, Sokka can finally breathe a sigh of relief. If he had to sleep in his bed, in sheets that still smelled like Zuko— _even though he washed them!_ —for one more night, he thinks he probably would have gone crazy. They only had one proper night together, but it was apparently enough for Sokka’s body to get used to sleeping next to him. Sokka woke up on Monday morning with the covers pulled up to his chin and it somehow felt wrong, even though he’s been sleeping that way for his whole life.

Zuko flipped his world upside down and inside out and then he _left._

What Sokka needs is for things to be simple again, and going home serves that purpose perfectly. For the next two weeks, he doesn’t want to have any responsibilities. 

Technically, his seat on the plane is in the middle, but he’s not subjecting himself to that for three hours if he doesn’t have to. He sinks into the aisle seat, stretches out his legs, pops his headphones on, and sleeps for the entire flight.

When the plane touches down in Iqaluit with a sharp jolt, he’s instantly awake. Katara glares at him from the other side of Aang, but Sokka only shrugs. It’s not his fault he sleeps easily on planes.

People soon start to file down the small aisle. Sokka takes it upon himself to hand Katara and Aang their respective bags from the overhead bunker before taking his own suitcase and following after them.

“Holy _shit,_ ” Sokka hears Aang mutter from up ahead as he steps out of the plane and onto the stairwell that will bring them down to the tarmac. “It’s _cold._ ”

Sokka claps a hand to Aang’s shoulder as they start walking towards the airport. He can practically hear the way Aang’s teeth are chattering. “We’ll get you a better jacket than the plastic bag you’re wearing right now.”

“Thanks,” Aang replies, looking genuinely grateful for the offer.

For a split second, Sokka wonders how Zuko would have reacted to the biting weather. The cold up north is different from the cold in Montreal, more dry and burning rather than damp and chilling. Sokka figures Zuko would have taken it with much less grace than Aang, probably with a lot of swearing, then a resolute assertion that he really wasn’t that bothered. Sokka would know better though. He _knows_ Zuko, and while Zuko might run hot while he sleeps, Sokka also knows that Zuko hates the cold.

 _Maybe it’s for the best that he’s not here then_ , Sokka thinks before he resolutely stops thinking about Zuko altogether.

It’s nice to be home. The sun is low in the sky, even though it’s early afternoon. They probably only have an hour before sunset.

The sun setting before two in the afternoon might be weird to some people, but to Sokka, it feels familiar. Comforting. There’s something about watching school buses drive down the main street at 4pm in complete darkness that evokes a certain sense of nostalgia, and Sokka _loves it_.

Sokka loves Iqaluit. It feels great to be home.

That feeling is only intensified as the three of them step through the airport doors, following the group of people ahead of them down a few simple hallways until they make it to the main area.

Sokka sees his dad almost immediately—he’s easily spotted as the tall older man speaking to three different people, all of whom seem to be hanging on his every word. As Iqaluit’s long-standing mayor, Hakoda is recognizable to almost everyone in town, and he’s always happy to chat. 

Gran Gran is also standing with Dad. She’s shorter than Hakoda by a whole foot and a half, but she seems to be commanding just as much attention as her son. 

Gran Gran is the first to notice them. She looks away from Hakoda’s audience and catches Sokka’s eye. Her entire face lights up and she puts a hand on Hakoda’s arm to get his attention. 

The small crowd in front of Hakoda disperses just in time for Sokka to launch himself at his dad, squeezing tight. 

“Sokka!” Hakoda grunts right as they collide. He wraps his arms tight around his son. “Have you grown? Gotten stronger? What’s happening here? Why are you so tall?”

Sokka pulls back, grinning wider than he has in days. “Yeah, Dad, I’m a growing boy.”

Hakoda cuffs the back of Sokka’s head. “Smart aleck.”

“ _Tunngasugitsi!_ ” Gran Gran greets the three of them, hugging Sokka quickly before embracing Katara. Gently, she pulls back to hold her at arms length, taking her in. Sokka can hear her murmuring in Inuktitut, “ _Takunahaarnakuni_.”

“ _Anaanatsiaq_ ,” Katara says softly. “It’s good to see you.”

Gran Gran turns to Aang with critical eyes. “ _Unali kinauva?_ ”

“ _Una_ Aang,” Katara says, stepping closer to Aang. She nods at him reassuringly. 

Aang holds out a hand. “It’s really nice to meet you,” he says. 

Gran Gran bypasses the hand entirely and pulls Aang into a hug. Sokka can see that Aang’s eyes are wide over Gran Gran’s shoulder, but Aang soon sinks into the hug, wrapping his arms around her small frame. 

“ _Katigatkit alianaiq_ ,” Gran Gran says as she finally steps away. “Pleased to meet you, Aang. My name is Kanna, but you can call me Gran Gran.”

“Or you could call her _anaanatsiaq,_ ” Sokka adds playfully, the word rolling easily off his tongue. He knows full well which name Aang’s going to opt for.

“I think I’ll stick with Gran Gran,” Aang says, ears turning a bright pink. 

Hakoda laughs good naturedly along with Sokka and Katara, and Aang hurriedly turns to the older man. “It’s good to meet you too, sir,” Aang says, sticking his hand out for him to shake. 

“Don’t look so nervous, Aang,” Hakoda says, taking the hand and shaking once. He claps a hand to Aang’s shoulder. “Katara’s told me lots about you.”

“ _Dad,_ ” Katara protests. 

“All good things I hope?” Aang asks.

“All good things,” Hakoda confirms, then nods his head over to Sokka. “It helps that you’ve already gotten the seal of approval from this one.”

“Really?” Aang turns to Sokka, eyes practically glittering. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Sokka grumbles. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Aang wraps a hand around Sokka’s shoulder and pulls him into a side hug with surprising strength. “Thanks, Sokka. I like you, too.” Quietly, Aang adds, “If it helps, you got my seal of approval ages ago. For... you know.”

Just as quietly, Sokka replies, “Please shut up.”

“Sure thing,” Aang says, patting his shoulder once more before letting go. 

Sokka notices his dad giving him a questioning look and knows that he probably heard every word of that. Fantastic.

“Where’s Bato?” Sokka asks in a desperate attempt to change the subject. 

It has its intended effect; Hakoda’s eyes soften around the edges, the corners of his lips pulling up. “There was one last emergency council meeting he had to attend before we start back up in January.”

“What, and _you_ didn’t have to go?”

Hakoda grins smugly. “Mayor’s privileges.”

“What a blatant abuse of your power, Dad,” Sokka says. 

Hakoda rolls his eyes. “He knew you kids were flying in today, so he agreed to take my place so I could be here when you arrived. I hope you three aren’t too tired from the flight though, there’s lots happening tonight, with it being Christmas Eve, and all. Bato said he’d meet us at the gift exchange.”

“ _Some people_ slept the whole flight,” Katara begins, “so I’m sure _some people_ are super excited for all the activities later tonight.”

Sokka grins over at his sister, saccharine sweet. “And _I’m_ sure that Aang would _love_ to join me at the gift exchange if you need to take a nap, Katara.”

Katara smiles tightly back, her eyes hard. “Thanks _so_ much, Sokka, but I think I’ll manage.”

“Okay,” Sokka says in a too-nice tone.

“Do they still do this all the time?” Hakoda asks Aang. 

“Pretty much,” Aang says, and Hakoda shakes his head. 

He takes his children under his arms and begins steering them towards the exit. “Let’s get you all home, shall we?”

* * *

Sokka might have been able to escape the dreaded middle seat on the flight, but he’s not so lucky on the drive back home. Somehow, he manages to get himself crammed into the cab of his dad’s dusty truck with Katara and Aang on either side of him.

Hakoda hasn’t stopped asking Aang questions about his life in a classic dad interrogation move, and Katara is slumped into the corner in embarrassment. Aang, on the other hand, is answering every question with surprising enthusiasm and honesty.

“The Inuktitut language is so beautiful,” Aang is saying now, and Sokka can tell that he’s earning points with Gran Gran by the small smile that has yet to leave her face. “Zuko and I have learned a lot of languages over the years, but unfortunately Inuktitut was never one of them.”

Sokka can’t help the way that he stiffens at the mention of Zuko’s name. Aang, clearly noticing the way Sokka has gone tense, gives him an apologetic look.

“Zuko,” Hakoda says, rolling the name around in his mouth like he’s deciding whether or not he likes it. “You’ve mentioned this _Zuko_ a lot, who’s that?”

Because Aang has apparently never learned the intricacies of _subtlety,_ he looks over at Sokka and winces. Hakoda clearly catches the movement in the rear-view mirror, because he meets Sokka’s eye and raises a pointed eyebrow. Sokka clenches his jaw and looks away.

“Zuko is, um,” Aang pauses. “Well, we grew up together. Our fathers work—I mean, _worked_ together, so we’re more like brothers, really. We were roommates back in Montreal.”

“Were?” Hakoda asks, picking up on the change in tense that Aang used.

Katara shifts in her seat so she’s no longer covering her face in embarrassment, instead looking at Sokka with sad eyes. Sokka wishes she and Aang would stop making those faces, because Dad is _definitely_ noticing them. Talking about Zuko with his dad is _not_ on Sokka’s to do list for this winter holiday, so he’d appreciate them being less obvious about the fact that something’s happened between him and Zuko.

“Zuko actually went home to Japan,” Aang says. “It was kind of… abrupt.”

Calling Zuko’s departure _abrupt_ might be the biggest understatement of the year, so Sokka can’t hold back the bitter snort that escapes him.

He then has to mentally kick himself for letting his emotions get the better of him, because Hakoda immediately asks, “Did you know him too, Sokka?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Sokka says, in a tone that he hopes very clearly communicates how much he doesn’t want to talk about this subject. “We all hung out.”

“I see,” Hakoda says, and when Sokka looks once again into the rear-view mirror, he can tell that Hakoda is picking up way more than what Sokka is putting down.

His dad’s perceptive eye was both a blessing and a curse growing up. It sucked in the way that Hakoda could tell from just one look that it was actually _Sokka_ who accidentally ordered too much online and bought an entire shipping container and not Katara. But it was also really nice, because Sokka’s never been good at articulating his feelings to others. With one look to his dad, he always knew what it was that Sokka needed, whether that be a shoulder to cry on after Mom died, or an accepting hug when he came out as bisexual.

As Sokka’s grown older, he’s started to value his privacy a little more, especially now that he’s moved to a different city. That’s not to say that he doesn’t tell his dad stuff, because he does. But he never told him about Zuko, because there wasn’t much to say at the time.

He had been planning on calling his dad and telling him about Zuko before showing up in Iqaluit with a maybe-sort-of boyfriend, but then Zuko had left, and with him, Sokka’s reason to call.

In any case, he knows that he’s going to be having a conversation with his dad once they get back to the house.

Awesome. Sokka’s _totally_ looking forward to it.

Once Hakoda pulls the truck into the drive and their bags are brought inside, Gran Gran and Katara decide to give Aang a tour of the house, and the three of them disappear upstairs.

Sokka has more important things on his mind. He makes a beeline for the kitchen—it’s been a long four months since he’s been home, and the bag of seal jerky he’d brought back to Montreal with him lasted barely a few weeks.

Sokka moans as he sees a bag of the delicious jerky in the cupboard, and he has it open and a piece in hand before he hears the creak of the floorboards behind him.

Slowly, he turns around to see his dad standing in the opening, completely blocking any chance of escape.

Sokka silently curses his own predictability, but he already has the seal jerky in hand, so he takes a bite anyways. “’Sup?” Sokka asks through chews.

Dad doesn’t waste any time. “Zuko, huh?” He shifts slightly so he’s leaning against the wall with one shoulder, crossing his arms as he goes.

Sokka finishes chewing, and the normally tangy and salty snack feels like a lump of coal as he swallows. He knew his dad was most likely going to ask, but he didn’t expect him to come right out and _say it._

“What makes you say that?” Sokka asks, because maybe his dad is only trying to call his bluff.

Hakoda doesn’t look impressed. “I’m not an idiot, son. I don’t know what, but something definitely happened between you two.”

“I–” Sokka looks down and away. He’s done a very good job of not thinking of Zuko or bringing him up in conversation, but when he opens his mouth, he gets an odd feeling like he’s going to blurt everything out. The last thing he wants to do is talk to his _dad_ about this, so he very pointedly presses his lips together. Maybe that will be enough to keep the words—and emotions—in.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Hakoda says, and he sounds so sincere that Sokka starts to feel guilty. “I only wanted to say that if you _do_ want to talk about it, I’m always here to listen.”

“I know, Dad,” Sokka manages to choke out. “I know.”

Hakoda nods. “Alright, then.” He pauses for a moment, moving like he’s about to leave, but then turns back towards Sokka. “You want a hug?”

They hugged not even fifteen minutes ago at the airport, but Sokka nods anyway. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

Hakoda steps forward, and Sokka collapses into his open arms. Strong arms wrap around his back, holding him tight. Sokka closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of his dad’s aftershave.

“I missed you,” Sokka mumbles into Hakoda’s shoulder.

Hakoda presses his cheek into the top of Sokka’s head, and his beard tickles Sokka’s forehead. It’s a simple movement, but it’s unbelievably comforting. “I missed you too, son.”

* * *

Once the sun has set, they all pile into Hakoda’s truck and drive to Sokka and Katara’s old elementary school, which is hosting the gift exchange this year.

It’s a short drive—pretty much everything is a short drive in Iqaluit, which Sokka has missed terribly—and they arrive in record time. The gym is crowded, as it always is at these types of events, packed to the brim with parents and elders and children alike. Sokka narrowly avoids a running child who would have ran straight into his legs if not for his hasty side-step.

She stumbles slightly over her own winter boots; Sokka quickly rights her by her bright purple snow pant straps that are falling off her shoulders.

“ _Mamianaq!_ ” she apologizes quickly, then finally pushes her hair out of her eyes and looks up at Sokka. “Oh, Sokka! You’re home!”

“Laina,” Sokka says, recognizing her now that she’s not a blur of motion. “You almost crashed into me!”

“Oops.” She grins up at him, and he notices that she’s now missing her two front teeth.

“No shame, huh?” Sokka muses, but he’s smiling despite himself. He pats her on the shoulder. “Alright, run along. But _slow down._ ”

Laina takes off once more, perhaps at a slower pace than before, but Sokka can’t really tell. He turns back to his dad. “Kids,” Sokka says with a dramatic eye roll.

Hakoda raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re telling me.”

“Katara!” The familiar voice comes from behind them. 

Sokka and Hakoda turn in unison to see Bato leaning down to hug Katara, Katara barely able to wrap her arms around his shoulders, even on her tippy toes. Bato presses a kiss to the top of her head before releasing her and meeting Sokka’s eyes.

“Sokka,” he says warmly, and Sokka finds himself almost lifted clean off his feet as Bato scoops him into a hug.

“Hey, Bato,” Sokka says. “Good to see you.”

“What, no big welcome for me?” Hakoda says, sounding put out.

Bato steps back, one hand still resting on Sokka’s shoulder, looking over at Hakoda fondly. “We saw each other earlier today, Koda.”

“So?” Hakoda asks.

Bato rolls his eyes, but he does step away from Sokka and over to Hakoda, pulling him closer with a strong arm around his waist. Sokka watches as Bato leans in and presses a gentle kiss to the edge of Hakoda’s cheek.

“Don’t forget about me,” Gran Gran says primly.

“Of course not,” Bato replies.

The height difference between Bato and Gran Gran is almost comical, but Bato bends down to kiss her cheek as well. Gran Gran looks unbelievably pleased with herself as Bato slots himself in next to Hakoda once more.

“You guys are absolutely ridiculous,” Sokka says.

“You learned from the best,” Hakoda shoots back immediately.

“Oh,” Sokka says, almost impressed at the sharp rebuttal. “ _Ouch._ ”

Gran Gran gently touches Sokka’s elbow in farewell as she spots some of the other elders across the gym, leaving him with his ridiculous father and his father’s ridiculous partner.

“Bato, this is Aang,” Katara says, stepping forward with Aang at her side.

Sokka’s already witnessed one introduction, so he feels no need to stick around and watch what is sure to be a warm welcome from Bato. Turning slightly, he spots a familiar face.

“Evan!” he calls, crossing the short distance between them.

Evan is a relatively new resident of Iqaluit. He moved here during the summer from southern Ontario because he had gotten a teaching job at the elementary school. He arrived conveniently during the couple of months that Sokka spent visiting—it turned out that they were close in age and had a lot in common, so a lot of the summer had been spent with Sokka showing him around the town and neighbouring communities.

“Sokka!” Evan grins, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Good, good,” Sokka says. “How were your first few months teaching?”

“It was awesome,” Evan replies, and he sounds incredibly sincere. “My kids are so great.”

“What grade are you teaching again?”

“Four.”

“Right,” Sokka says, remembering. He gives Evan a cheeky grin. “Did you keep up with our nine kilometer runs?”

Evan chuckles. “I did for as long as the weather allowed. By the time it hit negative forty, I had to give up.”

“Pffft. Minus forty is nothing.”

Evan raises an eyebrow, smirk faintly challenging. “Oh? You mean you’d go for an hour run right here, right now?”

“Give me the time and place and I’ll be there,” Sokka says.

“Alright,” Evan says, sounding faintly impressed. “I’m going to take you up on that. You still have my number?”

Sokka feels embarrassed that he does, in fact, still have Evan’s number. He hasn’t used it since he left to go back to Montreal, though.

In the back of his mind, Sokka faintly realizes that he’s pretty sure Evan would have been happy to meet up over the summer for reasons _other_ than to go running, but Sokka had still been hung up on Yue. He didn’t exactly feel like getting his heart broken again when he knew he was leaving in a matter of months.

It’s not lost on him that he’s basically in the same exact position as he was four months ago, but there’s something about Zuko that makes him think he isn’t a fling like Yue was. Or at least, that’s what he _thought._

Sokka clenches his jaw. Dammit, he’s _not_ going to think about Zuko right now.

“I do have your number, yeah,” Sokka replies finally. “I’ll know it’s you.”

Evan grins. “Great. Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Sokka replies, and Evan’s brown eyes light up. They’re not the right shade of brown though—the irises aren’t a deep brown, so dark they’re almost black. Instead, they’re bright enough to catch the light and turn faintly amber, almost honey-like. There are even green flecks embedded into the irises, Sokka notices, and he can’t help but feel like the colour is _wrong._

Sokka mentally shakes himself. Since when does he think there’s a right and wrong shade of brown eyes?

He doesn’t have to wonder for very long. Sokka’s traitorous brain supplies him the images of two very familiar eyes under a tumble of black hair. There’s an image that’s been seared into Sokka’s mind since it happened—Zuko as he grabbed Sokka’s wrist and pulled him closer, the way those dark brown irises darkened even more as Sokka leaned in, and in, and in.

“Sokka?”

Evan’s careful voice snaps Sokka back to the present.

“Are you okay?” Evan asks. Sokka belatedly looks down and sees that Evan has stepped closer, one of his hands wrapped around Sokka’s bicep.

“I—Yeah,” Sokka says, subtly edging his arm out of Evan’s grip. It might not have been as subtle as he thought, because Evan’s face falls.

“Oh,” Evan says. “Alright.”

“Sorry,” Sokka finds himself saying. “There’s just—It’s just…”

“It’s okay,” Evan says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His shoulders slump as he looks away.

“Tell me more about your students,” Sokka says, and he sounds desperate even to his own ears.

Evan looks at him like he clearly knows that Sokka is trying to change the subject, but he must decide that he doesn’t care, because he replies anyway. “They’re wonderful. Such great kids. Really bright spirits.”

The mention of spirits makes Sokka smile. Evan must be hanging out with some of the elders in his free time, suggesting that he’s been more or less accepted by them. That means a lot, considering Evan is the furthest thing from Inuit a person can get.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Sokka says. “I know how nervous you were to get started.”

“I was,” Evan agrees with a nod. “But like you said, there was nothing to be worried about. Everyone’s been really welcoming.”

“That’s really great,” Sokka says with a genuine smile.

“Yeah,” Evan says. “Of course, it hasn’t all been sunshine and rainbows.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“Administration shit, and some trouble with the food program we offer,” Evan answers. He rakes a hand through his short blonde hair, shifting on his feet like just talking about it agitates him. “Like, it’s expensive to live here, right? And some of these kids don’t have the best home life. Their parents–”

Evan keeps on talking, but his words seem suddenly far away, like Sokka’s been pushed underwater. There are a few clear phrases that ring through his mind like an echo.

_These kids don’t have the best home life. Their parents–_

Sokka thought he had cleared his mind of Zuko, but he must not have pushed thoughts of him very far away, because they’re back now with startling force.

 _Zuko_ doesn’t have the best home life, and yet, he went home. _His father_ has hurt him before, and yet, _he still went home._

Sokka has kept his jacket on despite the warmth in the gym, and he’s glad he did, because the chill that sweeps through him now is sharp and sudden.

Ozai _hurt_ Zuko. And now Zuko is back in Japan with him. Is Zuko in danger? _Why_ has this thought never occurred to Sokka before?

Sokka supposes that Zuko leaving had been a shock, and while Sokka didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, the quick departure had _hurt._ A lot. Especially right after they had–

It’s not like Sokka had been thinking straight, at the time. He’d been more focused on licking his own wounds than thinking about what going home would mean for Zuko.

God, Zuko had willingly gone back home, right into the clutches of his abusive father. And Sokka had barely even questioned it.

He needs to—He doesn’t know what he needs, he just wants to make sure that Zuko will be okay _._ Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that Zuko hasn’t even sent him a single text, or an apology, or never called him back. Sokka only needs to know that Zuko’s going to be alright.

“Sokka, are you sure you’re okay?” Evan asks, and Sokka can barely make out the words. It seems silly that Evan is asking if _Sokka_ is okay when _Zuko_ is the one who’s potentially in danger, who very well might be in the same room as Ozai right now, and–

“I think you need to sit down,” Evan is saying now, and _no,_ Sokka can’t sit right now, he has to–

He spots Aang and Katara across the gym, and his feet are moving before his brain has caught up.

“I’m fine,” Sokka calls over his shoulder, and he doesn’t miss the confused look on Evan’s face. “See you later!”

He knows he’s being rude. He hopes Evan will forgive him, but he knows who he can ask about Zuko, and that person is conveniently chatting with his sister and cousin, who are standing not too far away.

“Aang,” Sokka says, and he winces at how breathless his voice sounds. “I need to talk to you.”

“Hey, Sokka,” Aang says slowly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m great, but it’s not _me_ who I’m worried about right now,” Sokka replies quickly. “I really need to talk to you.”

“Hello to you too,” Sokka’s cousin Amaruq says with a lopsided grin.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Sokka says, clapping a hand to her shoulder. “Sorry, I just really need to speak with Aang.”

“Of course,” Amaruq says with a wave of her hand, as if giving them permission. “When you get back, maybe we can talk about you getting that forearm tattoo you were talking about in the summer.”

“That sounds great,” Sokka says sincerely, and feels bad when he immediately turns to Aang. He takes his arm and drags him out of the gym, weaving down familiar corridors until they find a deserted hallway.

Aang opens his mouth to protest, but then Sokka is stopping, fixing Aang with an intense look. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

Aang looks like he’s never been more confused in his life. “Sokka, what are you talking about? Are you sure you’re alright?”

“ _Zuko,_ ” Sokka stresses. “He went back home. To Tokyo. _Ozai_ is there. He—He _hurt_ him. And Zuko went _back._ Is he going to be okay?”

The confusion on Aang’s face clears immediately, features softening, eyes knowing. “Zuko’s going to be fine, Sokka.”

Aang sounds so sure, but– “How can you be so certain?” Sokka asks. “How do you _know_ that?”

Aang reaches out, firm hands coming to rest on Sokka’s shoulders. It’s only then that Sokka notices that he’s almost _vibrating_ with the need to make sure that Zuko’s going to be alright. That he’s safe.

But how _could_ he be safe if he’s with _Ozai_ , the man who–

Sokka can’t even think about it, or else he’s going to do something truly drastic.

“Sokka,” Aang says levelly, and Sokka’s gaze snaps to Aang’s dark grey eyes. “Zuko’s not thirteen anymore. He knows how to take care of himself. He’s going to be fine in Tokyo. I sincerely doubt that any physical harm will come to him.”

“But–” Sokka wants to protest, but Aang talks right over him.

“If I thought he would be hurt, I wouldn’t have let him leave. Plain and simple.”

Sokka pauses at that, because he knows that what Aang is saying is true. Aang has known Zuko longer and he’s more attuned to how Zuko’s family dynamic works. If Aang says that Zuko isn’t in danger, then Sokka _should_ believe him. But that doesn’t make it any easier for Sokka to accept it.

Sokka steps backwards until his back hits the wall behind him. He sinks down until he’s sitting on the floor, knees tucked under his chin.

He knows what he says isn’t fair, but he can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “You still let him leave, though.”

Aang seems to recognize that they’re not talking about Zuko being in danger anymore. He sighs slightly as he sits next to Sokka, shoulder to shoulder. “Are we finally going to talk about him, now?”

“No,” Sokka says stubbornly. 

He might have wanted to make sure Zuko was going to be alright back home, but that doesn’t mean they have to _talk_ about it. Sokka isn’t ready for that particular chat, especially not in the empty hallway of his old elementary school. Despite the past twenty minutes, Sokka thinks he’s done a _really good job_ of not thinking about Zuko, and he’s trying to keep it that way.

Aang, bless his heart, doesn’t push the issue. “When—if—you want to talk about it, I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

“I—Yeah. I know that.” Sokka shifts so the side of his head is propped up on his knee, looking over at Aang. Aang looks back, a sad, soft smile on his face. “Thanks, Aang.”

Aang rocks into Sokka’s side, not hard enough to unbalance him, but enough that Sokka appreciates the way their shoulders are pressed together. It feels a lot like solidarity, or maybe understanding.

“Of course,” Aang says simply. After a moment, he continues, “Katara and Amaruq are probably wondering where we are.”

“Probably,” Sokka replies, but he feels drained, tired in a way where he feels he could fall asleep right here where he sits. The last thing he wants to do is go back inside that gym, to smile and chat with old family friends and pretend that nothing’s wrong.

They sit together in the hallway for a while, longer than Sokka expects Aang to allow. Eventually, Aang gets to his feet, then holds out a hand for Sokka to take. “Let’s go,” he says.

Sokka sighs. He takes Aang’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All translations come from [this website](https://tusaalanga.ca/glossary). I did my best to research but if I have gotten any of these wrong, please let me know and I will correct them.
> 
>  _Tunngasugitsi_ – Welcome (to three or more people)  
>  _Takunahaarnakuni_ – Long time no see  
>  _Anaanatsiaq_ – Grandmother  
>  _Unali kinauva?_ – Who is this?  
>  _Una Aang_ – This is Aang  
>  _Katigatkit alianaiq_ – Pleased to meet you  
>  _Mamianaq_ – I’m sorry


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. A little bit of bad news. Unfortunately, I am still not done chapter 16. It’s _almost_ done, but not quite done. So I’m going to be stretching out the last two updates before the final chapter to give me a little bit more time, and to prevent you all from having to wait forever for the last chapter. Chapters 14 & 15 are probably my favourite chapters out of this whole story, so hopefully they will be worth the wait. Thank you all for understanding! ❤️
> 
> And now on to what you’ve all been waiting for! Enjoy 😊

Being back in Tokyo is surreal.

In a way, it doesn’t feel like reality, almost as if this is one large, elaborate nightmare. Maybe when Zuko wakes up, he’ll be back in bed with Sokka, and nothing will have changed between them.

But things _have_ changed between them, Zuko knows. When Zuko powers his phone back on after landing in Tokyo, he sees that Sokka never replied to his apology. However, he did try to call, and left one voicemail. Zuko's so worried about the voicemail that he waits to listen to it until after they leave the airport—he isn’t ready to hear whatever Sokka is going to say to him.

He doesn't expect Sokka to yell—he doesn't really know _what_ he expects, really, as he lifts his phone to his ear.

After listening to Sokka’s shaky breaths, three in, three out, then one final exhale that almost resembles a scoff, Zuko thinks he would have preferred yelling.

He hates to think that Sokka is disappointed in what he’s done. Did Sokka not say anything because he has nothing to say? Because Zuko isn’t worth the effort? The thought seems to punch a hole straight through Zuko’s heart. It leaves him breathless and feeling inexplicably heavy.

He’s thankful that he was sitting when he listened, and he sinks into the upholstery of the luxury car that Ozai had sent to pick them up at the airport. It seems that Sokka doesn’t want anything to do with him—couldn’t even think of one thing to say to Zuko.

It’s not like Zuko can blame him, really. He wonders how he would have reacted if their situations were reversed, if Sokka had been the one to leave in the middle of the night with no explanation.

Zuko would have been _broken._ Absolutely broken. He would have been angry, betrayed, and _hurt._ So unbelievably hurt. God, no wonder why Sokka doesn’t want to talk to him. Why would he? Zuko had _left._

But he didn’t _explain._ He should give Sokka an explanation. He _needs_ to.

Zuko unlocks his phone, opening the messaging thread he has with Sokka. There are a couple of texts that, if Zuko’s time zone calculations are correct, were sent when Sokka woke up without Zuko beside him. It had been hours after Zuko had gotten on the plane—he’d already been in the air, and hadn’t gotten the messages until he turned his phone back on after he landed.

The timestamp on the call is almost an hour after the texts, and Zuko figures that’s when Sokka realized Zuko had left, mostly because Aang sent him a slew of texts around the same time.

_You said you would tell him._

_Why didn’t you????????_

_You made ME tell him._

_I’m not texting you for a while after this because I’m mad at you. Don’t want to say something that I’ll regret._

There are two minutes between that message and the next.

_Hope you got to Tokyo safe and sound._

It characterizes Aang perfectly; he can be angry enough with Zuko that he doesn’t want to talk to him, but still takes the time to wish Zuko a safe flight.

Zuko isn’t sure he has the words to express how sorry he is to Aang and how thankful he is for his unconditional friendship, so he reacts to Aang’s last message with a heart. It’s the easiest way to let Aang know that he’s safe and that he made it to Tokyo in one piece.

Zuko brings his attention back to Sokka’s messages.

_hey, is everything okay?_

_hope you’re alright._

He knows that the messages were from Sokka _before_ he knew what Zuko had done, but he wishes that the words were from Sokka even after he realized Zuko left. Zuko’s thumbs hover over the keyboard, intent on explaining, on telling Sokka again that he’s _sorry,_ that he never intended to actually leave. It just kind of… happened.

The excuse sounds pathetic even in his own head.

Sokka’s scoff from the voicemail rings through his head, a terrible sound that grates in Zuko’s brain. It’s a reminder that Sokka doesn’t want to talk to him or hear from him at all. 

Sokka probably isn’t interested in an explanation, anyway.

Zuko powers down his phone and shoves it back into his pocket.

It’s only then that Zuko notices that Azula is stock still on the other side of the backseat. Now that he thinks of it, Azula hasn’t moved an inch since they departed from the airport. She seems to get more tense the longer they drive.

Eventually, she realizes that Zuko is staring at her, and she narrows her eyes at him. “ _What?_ ” she hisses.

Zuko almost can’t believe he’s going to ask, but he feels like he has to. His sister looks as if she’s been turned into a statue. “Are you… okay?”

“I’m fine,” Azula snaps, but her posture loses none of the tension she’s holding.

Zuko can tell that she’s not fine—she’s poised like a rubber band about to snap, and he can’t fathom _why_ she would possibly be acting in such a way. _She_ was the one who convinced Zuko to come back here, after all.

He rolls his eyes and turns away. If she wants to act weird, then she can act weird. Zuko isn’t going to get involved.

Then again… maybe she’s nervous? Zuko can’t lie—he’s nervous too. He and Azula haven’t been back in their childhood home in almost a decade. The last time he walked the halls, his mother had been alive.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Zuko resolutely turns away, watching the buildings and trees out of the tinted window. He tries not to think after that.

The drive is long and quiet. When the car finally pulls into the secluded courtyard, Zuko avoids looking at the house. He manages it for a while, but mostly because it’s only visible through Azula’s side of the car. 

Steeling himself, Zuko takes a deep breath and opens the door, walking around the vehicle. He stops dead in his tracks as the full view of the estate looms above him. It feels as if all his breath is punched out of him at the sight of the familiar house.

His first thought is that while its sheer imposition is larger than life, it somehow looks a lot smaller than Zuko remembers. But, Zuko reasons, he was much tinier nine years ago. Everything probably looked big to eleven-year-old Zuko.

Zuko stands next to the car for so long he almost doesn’t notice that Azula still hasn’t stepped outside. Through the heavily tinted window, Zuko barely sees her, but he can tell that her face is turned up toward the house. The expression on her face almost looks like trepidation, but that can’t be right. Zuko’s fairly certain that Azula isn’t scared of anything.

Zuko knocks twice on the window. “You coming, or what?” he asks.

The knock seems to startle Azula out of whatever trance she’s in, and she turns toward Zuko with a scowl. Zuko’s thankful that the tinted window diffuses the intensity of it.

He quickly sidesteps the door as Azula forces it open, and she climbs out, her limbs surprisingly moving without her usual grace. “Of course I’m coming, Zuzu.” She gives Zuko a sharp grin that always accompanies the nickname, but it looks odd, tight and too wide.

Their suitcases have been set on the paved stones behind them, and Zuko nods at the driver to thank him. The driver nods back, bowing slightly before getting back behind the wheel, leaving Zuko and Azula standing in the courtyard, staring at the estate before them.

“Shall we go in?” Azula asks, not taking her eyes off the front door.

“I suppose,” Zuko says.

Neither of them make a move to cross the courtyard.

“Is Father here already?” Zuko asks.

Azula’s quiet for a moment before responding. “I haven’t heard from him.”

“Well, then.”

“Well, then,” Azula echoes.

Together, they grab their suitcases and start walking.

Whoever had been taking care of the house in their absence had left the door unlocked. It pushes open easily, lighter than Zuko remembers it being.

Zuko only takes three steps before he starts coughing. The dust is unbelievably thick, and Zuko waves a hand in front of his face in an attempt to dispel it. Once his coughs start to subside, he’s able to walk further into the house, leaving his suitcase behind in the foyer.

Every single piece of furniture he comes across is covered in white drapery, a thick layer of dust coating every available surface. The floor, however, is spotless, so Zuko supposes that whoever Ozai hired to clean this place didn’t have adequate time to finish before he and Azula arrived.

Zuko walks through every room, waves of nostalgia crashing into him the further he goes. His feet carry him through the entire house without him even consciously realizing he’s moving.

That’s the room he and Azula played in as children. That’s the kitchen counter he sat on when he had scraped his knee, and his mother tended to the wound. That’s the bedroom he slept in every night for eleven years. That’s the back garden with the fountain that he and Mai had accidentally fallen into when they were kids.

Jesus. It’s a lot to comprehend, being back here so suddenly. Zuko barely had any time to prepare.

He finally stops his tour in the back garden, unable to continue on. The fresh air is welcoming, helping to wash away the memories that threaten to drown him.

“I guess Father didn’t have time to get the estate in pristine condition before our arrival,” Azula says from behind Zuko.

He spins around; he hadn’t noticed her joining him outside. It isn’t exactly cold, standing out here, and it’s definitely warmer than what he had gotten used to in Montreal, so he stays, looking out over the green space. The grass is long and overgrown.

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees. “I wonder why he called us back here when he obviously wasn’t ready for us.” His old bedroom was empty when he looked, and he wonders when the moving company will arrive with his furniture. He would question where he’s sleeping tonight, but this house is littered with empty bedrooms. He has plenty to choose from. 

“Does Father ever have a reason for anything?” Azula responds immediately.

Zuko looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yes,” he said, slightly baffled. “Always.”

Azula seems almost angry at Zuko’s comment, turning away before Zuko can even blink. “Whatever,” she mutters, stalking away into the house, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Zuko frowns. Azula’s acting strange—stranger than usual, at least.

He shrugs to himself. It’s probably because of the jet lag.

At the thought of jet lag, Zuko hums, blinking slowly. One of those guest bedrooms is starting to sound really good right about now. With one final look out at the garden, Zuko steps back inside.

When he walks into the foyer, Zuko sees that his suitcase is still sitting there, but Azula’s is gone. As he makes his way to the wing with the guest bedrooms, he notices that Azula’s claimed the room farthest down the hall. Its door is firmly closed, but Zuko can see shadows moving from where light is spilling out from beneath.

For a moment, Zuko thinks about knocking on her door to ask if she’s okay. But then he remembers that they don’t _do_ that, so he slides open his own door and closes it firmly behind him.

Zuko doesn’t bother getting changed. Drearily, he pulls out the futon from the fitted wall closet and lays out the bedding. It isn’t until he stands that he realizes he’s set out a futon large enough for two people, but he can’t be bothered changing it now.

He rolls directly onto the hastily laid out bed. It’s only two in the afternoon, but back in Montreal, it’s one in the morning. Zuko barely slept on the flight to Tokyo, too wired to do anything but sit and stew in his anxiety. The iced coffee Azula had given him had only made matters worse.

Not only has he been worried about Sokka’s reaction to his abrupt departure, Zuko is also incredibly nervous about seeing his father again. He thought that Ozai would be here waiting for them, so he had spent most of the flight meticulously thinking and discarding plans of what he’d say to his father when he saw him.

Zuko, since Ozai’s business was in Ottawa and not Montreal, hasn’t seen his father in months, and he’s always found that a longer time spent apart makes the reunion that much more difficult. There are always things that he’ll have to carefully word so as not give too much away—vague answers with just enough detail to avoid further questioning. 

He thought he’d been prepared to see his father, but now it seems even Azula doesn’t know when he’s coming home. Ozai could walk through the door in a couple of hours with no warning and Zuko wouldn’t have any time to plan or prepare. The thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Trying to shove thoughts of his father away, Zuko finds himself shifting onto one side of the futon despite the fact that he’s usually the type to sleep in the middle. He would wonder why he’s laid this way on the bed, if he didn’t already know.

Last night, Sokka slept on the left side of the bed, so Zuko slept on the right. Sometime in the past twenty four hours, Zuko’s brain has rewritten his sleeping habits based on _one night_ with Sokka.

Distantly, Zuko realizes that doesn’t bode well for him.

Zuko slowly inches his fingers across the comforter the same way he did the previous night. The difference is that last night, Sokka had smiled softly and reached back, loosely linking their fingers together. Right now, in the warm afternoon light, Sokka isn’t here to reach back, and Zuko’s never felt colder.

When he falls asleep, he dreams of a cold night and a warm boy, of a midnight sky lit up by nothing but the stars and a meteor shower that lasted for hours.

* * *

That had been three days ago. 

Zuko wishes that sleep would come as easily as it did that first afternoon, but no matter how hard he tries the following nights, sleep seems to elude him. The sheer exhaustion had worn off quickly, and now Zuko is left to lie in an unfamiliar bed without a familiar body beside him. 

Needless to say, his wishes go unanswered.

* * *

Christmas comes and goes with little fanfare.

When Zuko thinks of Christmas memories in Japan, he thinks of visiting Tokyo Disneyland with his mother, or eating Christmas cake and trying not to swipe any frosting. 

This year, Christmas had been downright depressing. Emerging from her room, still in her pajamas, eyes puffy, Azula quietly murmured Merry Christmas to Zuko, her Japanese leaking into the greeting. They ordered fried chicken from a local business in town for dinner. Zuko tried to make a Christmas cake and failed so miserably that Azula actually _laughed,_ genuinely _laughed,_ and Zuko had no choice but to laugh with her.

It was a weird day.

Zuko had sort of expected Ozai to show up right in the middle of it, and he’d been on edge all day because of it.

But Ozai hadn’t shown up. He still hasn’t.

Zuko likes to pretend that he’s _fine_ with it. Totally fine with it. So what if Ozai could walk through the front door at _literally_ any time? That’s cool. That’s fine.

Azula keeps on looking at him like she knows that he’s not fine, but she never comments or asks him about it. Zuko appreciates it more than he thinks she knows.

The housekeepers had finished restoring the house to its former glory on the second day, and the movers showed up with their furniture from Montreal the day after. Zuko’s room is set up just how he likes it now, but can’t bring himself to start sleeping in there.

Zuko’s kept his bedroom the same everywhere they moved in an attempt to make each new place feel like home. But now that he’s _literally home,_ it feels weird to have his mostly western furniture combined with the traditional Japanese-style room. In a sense, his two homes are combining in a way that Zuko didn’t ask for, and he doesn’t feel like dealing with it. He stays in one of the many guest bedrooms.

Azula does too. Zuko pretends not to notice.

Much to Zuko’s dismay, Aang has stayed true to his word and still hasn’t texted him. Zuko’s still holding out for at least an update on whether or not he’s given Sokka his Christmas gift, but Zuko’s not going to pry when Aang had implied he wanted space. He just has to believe that Sokka will get the gift and won’t immediately throw it in the trash without opening it first.

Because Sokka still hasn’t texted him. Or called.

Admittedly, neither has Zuko. But the thought of pressing the _call_ button beneath Sokka’s contact photo makes his throat tighten and heart pound in a way that he doesn’t even feel when he thinks about seeing his father again.

Something about Sokka absolutely terrifies him. Because in that phone call is the potential of Sokka telling Zuko that he doesn’t want anything to do with him, that he hates him. Or _worse_ —that he regrets what happened between them. Zuko wouldn’t be able to handle it, so for now, he’ll take the not knowing.

Zuko figures that it’s his own fault that he’s in this situation to begin with. _He_ was the one who left. _He_ was the one who hadn’t given any explanation. _He’s_ the one who fucked up this thing between them. He hadn’t been meaning to leave the country when he kissed Sokka goodbye, but he still left, and Sokka was the one who had to deal with that. And Aang too, if Zuko is being honest with himself.

Zuko doesn’t want to be honest with himself.

 _Fuck._ He’s such a shitty friend.

On the morning of the 26th, it’s still Christmas in Canada, so Zuko opens his messages app and types out a single text to a certain boy halfway across the world.

_Merry Christmas._

It’s not enough. Zuko’s not sure any amount of words will be enough to fully describe how terrible he feels about how he left things between them, but for right now, it’ll do.

Zuko leaves his phone on top of the futon when he stores it away in the morning and doesn’t look at it for the rest of the day.

Azula invites him out to go shopping the day after, which is so out of character for her that he almost says no.

She rolls her eyes and says, “What else are you going to do today? Be sad about Sokka some more? Lay around and sigh loudly? Look out the window forlornly like he _died,_ or something? Come _on,_ Zuko.”

Zuko narrows his eyes at her. “I haven’t been looking out the window forlornly,” he says.

“Sure you haven’t,” Azula says, completely deadpan. “You know that I also live here, right?”

Zuko scoffs. “You could have fooled me. You’re _never_ here,” he says, because she isn’t. Even on Christmas, she’d only made an appearance in the early morning and then for food in the evening. He had no idea where she’d been for the entire day.

“Well, you’re _always_ here,” she retorts immediately. Even more uncharacteristically, she shifts on her feet, like she’s suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m going shopping. All I wanted was to ask if you wanted to come with. If you don’t want to go, that’s all you had to say.”

“ _You’re_ the one who tore into me about missing Sokka,” Zuko points out.

Azula looks away, eyes going distant like she’s replaying the conversation in her head. She must come to the same conclusion Zuko did, because her gaze snaps back to Zuko’s, brown eyes hard.

“Do you want to come, or not?” she asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Zuko says, just to be contrary. He takes satisfaction in the way that surprise crosses Azula’s face before her expression settles into her usual cool disinterest.

“The car’s waiting outside,” she says, then turns without waiting to see if Zuko follows her.

By the time Zuko climbs into the back of the car next to Azula, she’s already told the driver where to go. The vehicle peels smoothly out of the courtyard and onto the main road.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all week?” Zuko asks before he even registers the words coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t his intention to spark up conversation, but he supposes he has been curious as to where Azula’s been disappearing to these past few days.

Azula doesn’t even look up from her phone. “It’s better than staying in that awful house for another second,” she says bitterly.

Zuko can tell that it’s more than she meant to say by the way her thumbs freeze where they’ve been tapping on the screen. They resume as if nothing happened barely a second later.

“It’s weird being back here, isn’t it?” Zuko says, almost like a peace offering.

He’s gotten mostly used to being back in his childhood home—he’s even gotten used to the stale air, the scent that seems familiar, yet still slightly off. Every so often, he’ll walk into a room and get a weird nostalgic flashback of his family before their lives were flipped upside down, before his mother died, before everything got dark and quiet between him, Azula, and their father.

He remembers the house being so bright and full of life, but he came to terms long ago that the bright presence he remembered had been his mother. Without her, everything dulled.

It was no wonder that barely a week after her death, Ozai had made Zuko and Azula pack a bag and booked them a private jet to anywhere else that wasn’t there.

At the time, Zuko had been confused, and sad, and angry. But he supposes he understands now. He supposes he also understands why Ozai hasn’t come home yet. If Zuko were Ozai, he wouldn’t want to be here, either. 

The thought only serves to make him feel angry. If Ozai isn’t here, then why should Zuko and Azula? He could be in Iqaluit with Sokka right now. Things never would have gotten so messed up between them.

(Sokka never responded to his Christmas wishes. Zuko pretends like he isn’t hurt.)

Azula’s soft words snap him back to the present. “It is weird. If I knew–” she hastily cuts herself off. “Never mind.”

“No, what were you going to say?” Zuko presses.

“I said _never mind,_ ” she snarls.

“Alright,” Zuko says, raising his hands in surrender. He sinks back into his seat and looks out the window. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

“Shibuya?” Zuko groans as he steps out of the car and realizes where Azula’s brought them.

“What’s wrong with Shibuya?” Azula asks defensively. Once she’s shut the door behind her, the car drives off with barely a sound.

“Everything,” Zuko says. “It’s so touristy.”

“It has the best shops,” Azula says like Zuko’s the dumb one.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, and Azula grins wickedly, like she’s taking personal joy in Zuko’s complaining. Despite himself, Zuko almost smiles, because _this_ is the Azula he knows. _This_ is the sister that he grew up with. She’s been suspiciously absent ever since they arrived in Japan, and it’s weirdly relieving to have her finally acting somewhat like her normal self.

She grabs him with a freshly manicured hand and links their arms together, effectively leading him wherever she wants to go. “I’m feeling UNIQLO, maybe Sacai? Then we’re definitely going in Shibuya 109.”

“Kill me now,” Zuko drones, and Azula clutches his arm tighter, laughing loudly in his ear.

“It’ll be _fun,_ Zuzu!” she says.

“I literally cannot think of anything less fun I could be doing with my day,” he replies.

“Even staring down at your phone for a text that’s never coming?”

Her words are sharp and biting, but when Zuko looks over at her in shock, her eyes hold no contempt. She almost seems genuinely curious, but like she doesn’t know how to ask a question in a nice way.

“He might text me back,” Zuko says quietly.

Azula hums. “Maybe.”

It doesn’t sound like she believes Zuko’s words, but Zuko won’t— _can’t_ —bring himself to think that Sokka won’t eventually respond. He’s probably taking some time to calm down, like Aang, and will send something soon. And if he doesn’t… well. Zuko’s trying not to consider that possibility.

He just wants Sokka to say something that’ll let Zuko know he’s not fucked things up beyond repair. He’ll settle for _anything,_ at this point. Anything that will lift this strange pressure off his chest and make it easier for him to breathe.

It turns out that the afternoon in town is exactly what Zuko needs to get his mind off not only Sokka, but Ozai’s inevitable arrival. Azula keeps him busy, asking his opinions on her outfits and whether or not she should get a gold necklace or silver earrings. Zuko even picks out a ring for himself, one that curls around his thumb in the shape of a dragon. Azula beams at him and hands over enough cash to pay for both her necklace and Zuko’s ring.

“Nice choice,” she comments to Zuko later about the ring, and Zuko gives her a tiny smile before he remembers to be confused by her niceness.

Before Zuko knows it, the sky has gone dark, and Azula finds them a fancy restaurant in Roppongi to eat at.

The whole day seems ever so slightly _off,_ because he and Azula don’t _do_ this. They don’t go shopping together, they don’t give each other compliments on jewellery, and they definitely don’t go out for dinner together.

They don’t even talk that much as they eat, but Zuko finds that he enjoys her company in a way that he hasn’t in years _._ It’s _weird_ , because for once in their lives, it’s only them. Mai and Ty Lee are still in Canada, and so is Aang. Right now, they only have each other, and it’s _plain weird_.

After they’re done eating, Azula suggests the idea of going to Shibuya Sky. The entire day has been _weird,_ but Zuko doesn’t want to bring down what’s been a surprisingly nice time with Azula, so he finds himself agreeing.

Shibuya Sky is an observation deck on the top floor of Shibuya Scramble Square. It’s wintertime, so the night is cool and clear. When they finally step outside, the rooftop observatory is overrun by tourists.

Zuko finds himself searching the faces of each and every person he passes—he doesn’t realize that he’s searching for Sokka until he’s reached the railing surrounding the deck. He leans heavily against the glass, looking out over the skyline, sucking in a breath of cool air. Why Zuko believed that Sokka might magically be among these people, he doesn’t know. He turns to Azula to distract himself, but she’s gone from his side, lost in the crowd. 

With a sigh, he turns the other way, spotting an area where other people are laying on hammocks, staring at the sky. There’s an open hammock that’s secluded from everyone else, so he gets comfortable, relaxing back into the netting.

The amount of light pollution in Tokyo makes stargazing impossible, which only serves to make Zuko miss Montreal—and Sokka—even more. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that Sokka is here laying beside him. He can feel the phantom movement of Sokka’s shoulder pressing into his back the same way it did when they watched the meteor shower all those weeks ago. 

Zuko knows that it’s the morning in Iqaluit right now, but he wonders if Sokka also watches the night sky, if he thinks back to the meteor shower with as much fondness as Zuko does. He’d give anything to go back there, to before he left, to when things were still good between them.

He doesn’t know how long he spends laying there, wishing Sokka were at his side. It feels like hours have passed when someone kicks his leg. His eyes fly open—Azula stands above him, eyebrow raised. 

“Thought I’d find you over here,” Azula says. When Zuko doesn’t immediately respond, Azula steps closer, kicking his leg again before saying, “Move over.”

With a half-hearted glare, Zuko shifts so there’s room next for him for Azula to lay down. It’s silent between them for a while, but then Azula looks over at him and doesn’t look away.

“What?” Zuko says. He keeps his gaze focused on the sky and tries not to lament the lack of shooting stars.

“What’s with you and the sky all of a sudden?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t kidding earlier, when I said that thing about you staring out the window forlornly,” Azula says. “I’ve seen you looking at the sky almost every night since we got back here. _Why?_ ”

Zuko finally looks over at his sister. “Have you been _spying_ on me?”

“I haven’t been _spying_ on you!” she protests.

Zuko must not look convinced, because she continues on with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t you think that father has that covered? He doesn’t need me for that _._ ”

Zuko can’t hide the utter disbelief that crosses his face before Azula notices it.

“What’s _that_ look for?” Azula asks, eyes narrowed.

“You’re telling me that you _don’t_ report back to father about what I’m up to?”

“I–” Azula’s eyebrows furrow, lips pursed in a scowl. “Not if I don’t need to!”

Zuko rears back. “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“God, Zuzu, way to change the subject,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “All I did was ask why you’re so obsessed with astronomy.”

“I’m not,” Zuko feels the need to clarify, then curses the way that Azula’s effectively diverted attention away from herself. He sighs, knowing that there’s no way he’ll get an answer _now._

He turns back to the sky. A week ago, Zuko never would have even _entertained_ the idea of sharing something so personal with Azula, but something’s changed between them over the past few days.

Before Zuko’s even consciously decided to speak, he says, “It reminds me of Sokka.” He freezes, holding his breath, his heart leaping into his throat. It feels as if his entire body is pulsing in time with his racing heartbeat.

That’s the first time he’s admitted that aloud.

He waits for Azula’s reaction.

“That’s stupid,” Azula replies succinctly.

Zuko thinks that before, her words would have had an edge that would have gotten underneath his skin. Now, her words barely have any bite—it’s more like confusion, as if she truly doesn’t understand how the sky could remind him of another person. It startles a laugh out of Zuko, enough to shake the hammock, but once the words sink in, he starts to feel sad for her. Azula has never experienced the emotional connection and level of trust Zuko does with Sokka, and that makes him feel an overwhelming amount of pity.

Azula looks over at him, surprised at the laughter, but then her expression melts into something softer at his expression, almost unsure. She tries to smile, but it ends up looking more like a grimace.

“Yeah, it probably is a little stupid,” Zuko says with a sigh. Now that he’s started talking, he’s not sure he’s going to be able to stop. “I know that I was the one who left, but I miss him _so much,_ Azula. I feel like it’s tearing me apart.”

Zuko can feel Azula’s eyes on him for a long time after that. He wonders what’s going through her brain, what she’s thinking about.

Eventually, Azula says, “Father emailed me.”

“When?” Zuko asks immediately, sitting up. He looks down at his sister with wide eyes.

“I just got it when we came up here.”

“Did he say when he’s coming?”

“Sunday morning,” Azula replies.

Zuko settles back down, the uptick in his heartbeat calming somewhat. “Two days, then.”

“Two days,” she confirms.

“Fuck,” Zuko says.

To Zuko’s complete surprise, Azula laughs. It isn’t even a mocking laugh—he feels less like he’s being laughed _at_ and more like he’s being laughed _with._ Coming from Azula, it’s an odd response.

Zuko thought that he liked Azula more when she was being her usual nasty self—it was almost easier that way, because then he could predict her behaviour. But this is a good look on Azula—he thinks he might like this version of her more.

Once her laughter subsides, she looks over at Zuko with a smile. “Want to get out of here? I called the driver, he should be here by now.”

Zuko smiles back. “Yeah,” he says, and when Azula gets to her feet and holds out a hand to help him up, Zuko doesn’t hesitate putting his hand in hers. “Let’s go.”


	14. Chapter 14

Sokka is in bed, watching Ouran High School Host Club and generally feeling sorry for himself, when he gets a call.

To say he scrambles for his phone would be an understatement. His heart starts pounding in his chest at the fact that his phone is ringing _,_ that someone is calling him _._ And that someone could be Zuko.

Sokka’s laptop almost meets its demise as he sits immediately upright, lifting the covers as he goes. He quickly rights his laptop and sets it to the side before following the familiar vibrations of his phone across his mattress. Finally, _finally,_ he comes up victorious.

He tries not to feel disappointed when the face on his screen is not a blurry photo of Zuko. Instead, it’s a goofy picture of Toph. Her fingers are hooked into her cheeks, her tongue sticking out as far as it can possibly go, eyes wide and wild. Sokka swipes his thumb across the screen to accept her call.

“Hey, Toph,” Sokka says, slumping back into his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Wow,” she says flatly. “Nice to talk to you, too.”

Sokka sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s been a weird few days.”

It’s not even a lie. It _has_ been a weird few days.

He’d ended up going home early from the gift exchange, hitching a ride with a family friend who was leaving early with her children. He had crawled into bed and planned to stay there for the foreseeable future, but Katara ended up dragging him out the next day for the Santa Claus Parade. While he didn’t have as much fun as he did the previous years, it was nice to see it through fresh eyes with Aang’s genuine awe and enthusiasm as he sipped hot chocolate and watched the colourful floats drive by.

Sokka tried not to feel bitter that Zuko wasn’t there to watch too. His phone burned a hole into his pocket, still helplessly devoid of any apologies or explanations from Zuko. 

Sokka’s slowly starting to come to the realization that Zuko doesn’t think there’s anything to explain. The only way Sokka can justify that is to believe that Zuko doesn’t feel the same way about him. He thought they’d been on the same page, but clearly not.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, but what can Sokka do except grin and bear it? Zuko had made his decision to leave, and he continues to choose not to reach out to Sokka. Sokka maintains that he isn’t going to reach out until Zuko does, and it seems that Zuko isn’t going to bother to pick up his phone and message Sokka.

Which is why, when Sokka finally _did_ get a message from Zuko, and that message was a simple _Merry Christmas,_ Sokka still didn’t reply.

He’s _hurt._

Zuko _left,_ didn’t text him for _four_ days, then out of the blue sent him holiday wishes? No apology. No explanation. Not even an acknowledgement of Sokka’s missed call.

Is Zuko trying to pretend that he hadn’t left Sokka in the middle of the night after explicitly telling Sokka he’d be back? Is he trying to make light of the situation? Does he seriously not understand that what he’d done has affected Sokka so deeply?

Sokka doesn’t understand. So he doesn’t reply. And when Zuko keeps on texting him innocuous stuff, he still doesn’t reply.

All he wants is for Zuko to call him back, not send him stupid texts about dumb holidays and his final grades.

He feels bad for not replying, but a deeper, darker part of him wants Zuko to feel bad, too. He wants Zuko to feel as much hurt as he’d caused Sokka. If Zuko doesn’t want to talk about it, then why should he?

So he doesn’t reply, he ignores Aang whenever he tries to talk to him about Zuko, and feels sorry for himself. He’s decided that after everything, he’s allowed to feel sorry for himself.

Which is why he’s still watching the saved episodes he has on Netflix. He apparently has a lot of Ouran High School Host Club saved, enough that Netflix sent him a notification that he had episodes expiring soon. It’s both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that it’s a _really good_ comfort show—Sokka has to admit that Zuko has good taste. But then that’s the curse—it only ends up reminding him of Zuko and how much he _misses him._

Sokka’s hurt, but that doesn’t stop him from missing Zuko. He misses Zuko _so much._ He wants to text him, he wants to hear his voice, he wants to go back to the night of the 21st, when Zuko had asked _can I kiss you?_ as if Sokka hasn’t been wanting to kiss him ever since they first met.

Somehow, within the three months of knowing him, Zuko has become such an integral part of Sokka’s life. Almost every week for the past few months, Sokka and Zuko would see each other three times a week. It seemed that each tutoring session had only gotten longer and longer, especially once Sokka started introducing Zuko to his favourite movies.

For the first time in a long time, Sokka has gone almost a full week without seeing Zuko, and it feels weird. It feels _wrong._

It feels like they should be together.

But they’re not—Zuko is in Tokyo, and Sokka is in Iqaluit _,_ and Zuko hasn’t called him back, and he keeps sending stupid texts that don’t _mean anything._

It’s complicated.

It’s just—really complicated.

Sokka lets out a long, weary sigh. “Well, it’s been a weird _week,_ really, not just some weird days.”

“I heard,” Toph says.

Sokka chuckles slightly. “You got my voicemail, huh?”

“Oh, you mean the cryptic _‘Hey, Toph, it’s Sokka, something’s happened with a boy but I haven’t said a word of it to you, except now he’s gone and I need your advice, I need to talk to you like the old days, so call me back please bye’_?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, cringing inwardly. “That.”

“Jeez, Sokka, could you have been more vague?” she asks with a laugh.

“I was going _through_ something, okay? It had literally, like, _just_ happened. You were the first person I called.”

“Well, I hope you called _him_ first,” Toph says.

“I did,” Sokka replies, and feels glum about Zuko all over again. His cheek presses further into his pillow. “He didn’t pick up.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“Well, I would love to continue talking about your boy troubles, Sokka,” Toph says breezily. “But first, I need a _teeny-tiny_ favour.”

“Oh,” Sokka says, trying not to feel disappointed that Toph’s only called because she needs something from Sokka. He’d really been hoping to talk to Toph about this whole mess with Zuko. “Um, alright. What’s the favour?”

“I need you to come pick me up at the airport,” she says.

“Oh my god, did you come home for Christmas?” Sokka’s immediate elation quickly morphs into dread. “Wait, shit, Toph, did I not tell you? I’m not in Montreal right now. I’m in Iqaluit with Katara and Aang to see my family.”

“Yeah, you told me,” she replies easily, like Sokka hasn’t just been the bearer of bad news. “That’s why I flew to the Iqaluit Airport and not Trudeau International.”

“Wait,” Sokka says, his brain unable to fully comprehend Toph’s words. “Wait, what? You’re _here?_ Like, here in _Iqaluit?_ ”

“Yes, Snoozles, keep up,” she says. “I was going to take a cab and surprise you, but then I realized I have no fucking idea what your address is.”

Without thinking, Sokka replies, “You could probably tell the cab driver to go to Sokka’s house and he’d know where it is.” The town was small enough that everyone knew their neighbors. 

“Oh,” Toph says like she hadn’t thought of that. “Well, that works. I’ll do that then–”

“No!” Sokka exclaims. He’s out of bed in a flash—for a moment, he debates changing, but it’s not like Toph is going to care whether or not he’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. “No, I’ll come pick you up. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, max.”

“I’ll be here,” Toph promises, then hangs up.

Sokka takes a second to stare at his phone. He would have liked to maybe ask her a few questions first, the first of which would have been a heartfelt _what the fuck?_ but Sokka figures he’ll have to ask her when he gets to the airport.

Did that conversation seriously just happen? Is Toph actually here?

 _Well,_ he thinks. _There’s only one way to find out._

He throws open his bedroom door, jumping down the stairs two at a time. As he lifts his dad’s truck keys from the hook in the front hall closet, he yells out to whoever’s listening, “I’ll be back in half an hour!” After thinking about it for a half-second, he also tacks on, “Uh, with a friend!”

“With a friend?” Katara calls back—her voice is surprisingly close. A moment later, she walks into view. “If you’ve invited Evan over for dinner, I’m going to kill you.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Sokka says dismissively, turning back to the front door.

“Well, _he_ sure thinks it is,” she replies. “Stop stringing him along when you’re obviously still in love with Zuko.”

Sokka pauses. He doesn’t turn around.

That’s another thing that’s happened the past few days. 

Katara, for whatever reason, has progressed past the pitiful looks and sympathetic stares and jumped straight into thinking that Sokka is in love with Zuko, apparently completely forgetting that Zuko had _left._ She’s somehow decided to side with _Zuko_ throughout all this, conveniently forgetting that _Zuko’s_ the one who sent him a lousy ‘Merry Christmas’ text when he hasn’t even bothered to call Sokka back _._

“How many times do I have to say it, Katara? He’s the one that left _._ ”

“Just because he left doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like you back, Sokka!” She sounds exasperated. “He has a complicated relationship with his dad. Aang explained some stuff.” Softer, she adds in, “It also doesn’t mean that you’re not stupidly in love with him.”

Sokka sends her a warning glare over his shoulder. “Katara…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says with an eye roll. “Don’t mention Zuko, you’re not in love with Zuko, blah blah blah. Keep telling yourself that.”

Sokka turns around at that, fully intending to tell her _exactly_ what he thinks about her continuing to bring up Zuko despite his wishes. He sees the way her eyes light up at the promise of a challenge, watches the way she cocks her hip and crosses her arms. She lifts a pointed eyebrow, as if daring him to speak.

He deflates slowly, and then all at once. Now is not the time. Toph is apparently waiting for him at the airport.

He curls the keyring around one finger, then turns back to the door. “I’m not bringing home Evan. I gotta go.”

“Who, then?” she asks.

“You’ll see!” he says, then opens the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Sokka hasn’t been outside since the Santa Clause Parade, so the cold air is refreshing. It snaps him into the moment. He sits for a second in the driver’s seat, revelling in the familiar way the truck rumbles to life. Toph is waiting for him at the airport _?_ What the actual fuck?

Sokka doesn’t speed on the way to the airport, no matter how much he might want to. The roads are winding and it’s already dark out, even though it’s the afternoon. The last thing he wants to do is slip on a patch of black ice and send his dad’s truck tumbling into a ditch with himself inside it.

He parks quickly, barely remembering to lock the doors before running into the airport. He’s barely through them before he sees her—she’s leaning against a pillar, arms crossed. In one hand is her white cane; a small duffel bag rests near her feet.

“Toph!” Sokka calls.

“Sokka!” Toph exclaims, throwing out her arms in Sokka’s general direction in a clear invitation for a hug.

Sokka’s never turned down one of Toph’s hugs before and he’s not going to stop now. He wraps his arms around her back and squeezes tight.

“Oh my god, you’re actually here,” he says, still disbelieving. “What the fuck are you doing in Iqaluit?”

Toph’s arms squeeze a little tighter around his neck, and Sokka can hear the smirk in her voice when she replies. “Some guy called me and said he wanted to talk to me like the old days. I decided to make his Christmas wishes come true.”

Sokka snorts, pulling back slightly. Just as he thought, Toph is grinning widely as she steps away. “I hate to say it, but you’re a little late for Christmas wishes. It’s the 27th.”

Her grin morphs into one of affront. “It’s not like you gave me a lot of time to book a flight, Snoozles!”

“I know, I know,” Sokka says, smiling wider than he has in days. He pulls Toph into another hug because he can’t help himself. “God, I am so happy to see you.”

“Gross, Sokka, it’s like you missed me or something.”

“I did,” he says sincerely, finally pulling away. All at once, he can feel the telltale stinging of impending tears in his eyes. His breath hitches, a lump forming in his throat. “I missed you so much.”

Toph’s expression wobbles slightly as she hears the way Sokka’s voice has gotten choked up. She forms her fingers into a fist and punches Sokka’s bicep, but Sokka can’t help noticing that she hasn’t put as much strength into it as she usually does. “Shut up,” she says forcefully.

“Sorry,” Sokka chuckles wetly, quickly wiping away his tears with the pad of his thumb. “Won’t happen again.”

Slowly, Toph reaches out, curling a hand around Sokka’s arm where she had hit him. She clutches tight. “I missed you, too.”

Sokka barely has time to grin when Toph quickly retracts her hand, punching his arm once again. “But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Sokka rubs his arm, but he can’t be mad about the impending bruise. He can’t stop smiling.

“Stop grinning,” Toph snaps.

“I’m not grinning.” Sokka’s definitely grinning.

Toph rolls her eyes at him. After a moment, she says, “Did I do that right? I was rolling my eyes at you.”

“Yeah, Toph,” Sokka says softly. He bends down to grab her bag, then links their arms together as he rights himself, leading them out of the airport. “You did it right.”

* * *

Music floats through the house when Sokka pushes open the front door, Toph trailing in behind him. They make their way into the living room, and Sokka freezes in the entryway. Toph’s white cane hits the heel of his foot, and she stops a few feet behind him.

“What’s happening?” Toph whispers.

“Uh, good question,” Sokka says, and it ends up getting the attention of the rest of his family. Katara, Bato, and Hakoda all look over from where they’re standing around Gran Gran and Aang, who are dancing in a circle together. “What’s happening?” he asks the room.

Aang laughs brightly, copying the movement Gran Gran is showing him enthusiastically. “Gran Gran is showing me some moves!”

“Where’s your friend?” Katara asks. Her tone implies that she thinks there _is_ no friend.

It’s then that Toph steps out from behind Sokka, her white cane easily navigating around him. “Right here,” she says.

“Toph?” Katara asks, eyes widening almost comically as she catches sight of her.

“Toph?” Aang echoes confusedly, slightly breathless, looking between the two girls. “I thought Toph was in, um. Berlin?”

“Budapest,” Toph corrects easily. “Sorry to disappoint, Twinkletoes. I’m here, instead.”

“Wow.” Aang blinks, a grin stretching across his face. “I’ve heard so much about you! I’m Aang. Katara’s boyfriend.”

Toph’s eyebrows raise. “Ah, so _you’re_ the boyfriend.”

“Sure am,” he says, looking at Katara. The most lovesick expression passes over his face, and Katara turns away with a pleased smile.

“Aang and Katara are being really gross and soppy,” Sokka tells Toph.

“Good thing I can’t see it,” Toph says with a wry grin.

Katara makes a sound of affront, but then Hakoda is stepping forward, cutting off her protests. “Sokka’s infamous roommate,” he says warmly. “I’m Hakoda, Sokka and Katara’s father. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Toph says.

“Bato and Gran Gran are also here,” Sokka says.

“Hello, Toph,” Bato calls, and Gran Gran smiles and offers a traditional Inuktitut greeting.

“Hi,” Toph says. “Nice to meet all of you.”

“Alright, that’s enough introductions,” Sokka says. He adjusts Toph’s bag in his hands. “Toph and I will be upstairs.”

Once they’re safely in Sokka’s room, he closes the door firmly behind them. When he turns back around, Toph has already made herself comfortable on Sokka’s bed, her white cane leaning against the wall next to Sokka’s headboard.

“Sorry about that,” Sokka says. “I didn’t know they’d all be there at once.”

Toph shrugs. “It’s okay, not a big deal.” She pats the bed next to her. “Are you gonna tell me about this _boy_ now? I’m _dying_ of curiosity. You gave me absolutely nothing in that voicemail. Come on, tell me all about it.”

Sokka huffs, flopping onto his back near the foot of the bed. Toph bounces slightly, then reaches out and pats what’s nearest her, which turns out to be his shin.

When Sokka doesn’t immediately divulge his innermost thoughts, she continues, “I fly all the way here to listen to you vent about a boy, and then you don’t vent about the boy? Come on _,_ Sokka.”

Sokka stays stubbornly silent.

Toph sighs, then lists to the side so they’re both laying on their backs, shoulder to shoulder. They lay in silence for a few more minutes.

Softly, Toph breaks the quiet. “I _know_ you, Sokka. I know that whatever happened hurt you more than you’re letting on, and that you haven’t talked about it with anyone. I’m sure it’s eating you up inside.” Another pause. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m betting you probably do.”

Toph is right, like she usually is, but Sokka doesn’t know where to start. He supposes from the beginning would be appropriate.

“His name is Zuko,” Sokka starts.

She listens attentively as Sokka tells her everything. He tells her about how they met, about the tutoring sessions he and Zuko had together. He explains Zuko’s situation with his family with enough detail that Toph will understand the severity of everything, but without revealing anything that he thinks Zuko wouldn’t want shared. Sokka tells her about the day with the Oreos when Azula showed up. He tells her about the kiss that he and Zuko shared in the club on Halloween.

“Spicy,” Toph says with a grin.

“Shut _up,_ ” Sokka pleads.

He really does tell her everything. As he says the words, as he relives all the happy moments he and Zuko had together—watching Indiana Jones, studying in the park, sitting in the corner booth with Zuko tucked under his arm—Sokka’s heart starts to hurt.

When Sokka gets to the part where Zuko had agreed to come to Iqaluit with him, he has to take a deep breath before continuing.

He tells Toph that he woke up alone, and Toph says, “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, barely audible.

She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Keep going,” so Sokka does.

He tells her about the missed calls, the lack of any response from Zuko, and then bitterly says, “He texted me on Christmas.”

“Oh? What’d he say?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Toph presses her lips together, unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Sokka echoes disbelievingly. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Is that everything?” Toph asks.

“Yeah,” Sokka sighs. “That’s everything.”

“Hmm.”

“Really?”

“Give me a moment to think, Snoozles.”

With a huff, Sokka crosses his arms. “Fine.”

Toph is quiet for a long time. At one point, Sokka opens his mouth to say something, and Toph silences him with a sharp, “Shhh!”

Sokka doesn’t try to talk again. He waits not-so-patiently to hear what Toph’s thoughts are on this whole mess with Zuko.

The first thing that Toph says is, “You really like him, don’t you?”

The question takes Sokka by surprise. The fact that it’s in the present tense throws him off even more.

And still, Sokka doesn’t stop himself from saying, “Yeah. I do.”

God, he hates when Katara is right.

“Which is why it hurt you so much when he left,” Toph states.

“Well, _yeah_.”

“Don’t get snippy with me,” Toph says. “I’m trying to help you out, here.”

“I know,” Sokka says, shrinking into himself. “Sorry.”

“Okay, let me get something straight.”

“Sure.”

“You called Zuko. Left a voicemail. Zuko never called you back.”

“Uh huh.”

“What did you say in the voicemail? A rambling mess like you left me?”

That leaves Sokka feeling wrong-footed, and he doesn’t know why. “Um, no. I, uh… didn’t say anything.”

Toph turns her head towards Sokka, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Her eyes are focused somewhere near Sokka’s chin. “You… left a voicemail… where you didn’t say anything?”

“Well—I—That sounds worse than it is,” Sokka says hastily. “I didn’t want to leave a _voicemail_ , I wanted to actually _talk to him._ ”

“Then why didn’t you _say_ that?”

“I—I don’t know! I was kind of freaking out, at the time!”

Toph shakes her head. “Okay. Shelving that for later. I have another question.”

Now Sokka is nervous about what she’s going to ask. “Okay.”

“The way you’ve been talking about it, you’re making it sound like he doesn’t care about you.”

“He left!”

“Yes, I know,” Toph says, and she reaches out to pat Sokka’s hand like she can tell he’s getting worked up. “Is that why you think he doesn’t care about you? Because he left?”

“It’s not just _that_ ,” Sokka says, and he can feel his ears start to burn. “It’s the _way_ he left. He said he was going to come back. And then he never did. He never even _apologized_ for it. All he has to do is pick up his phone and call me, and yet, _he never does._ ” Sokka looks over at Toph. “How am I not supposed to take that personally?”

Very bluntly, Toph says, “Why did he leave?”

“Why—what?”

“Why did he leave?” she repeats.

“Because—I told you this, already.”

“Tell me again.”

Sokka exhales heavily. “Because his father apparently _requested their presence in Japan_ in the middle of the fucking night. And so Zuko went. Without saying good-bye. Without bothering to _explain_ –”

Toph cuts him off. “He left because his father—the father you’ve described as being extremely controlling— _told him to._ ” She sits up then, crossing her legs and turning her face away.

Sokka watches her back curve as she rests her elbows on her knees, propping her chin up. She’s still facing the wall—he can’t see her face.

“Toph?” Sokka asks hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“It’s just–” she stops, then makes a frustrated sound. “I understand where he’s coming from.”

“What? Toph, you can’t seriously be taking _his_ –”

“No, Sokka, listen,” Toph says, talking right over him. She turns to the side so Sokka can see her face in profile. “I’m going to preface this by saying that _you have a right to be angry._ You have a right to be sad. You have a right to be feeling whatever you’re feeling right now. What Zuko did—disappearing in the middle of the night without leaving a note, or sending you a text—was a massive dick move. Like, huge. And if I ever meet him, I’m going to punch him in the nuts for what he did to you.”

Despite his initial outburst, Sokka snorts. “Thanks, Toph,” he says dryly.

“But you’ve got to stop thinking that Zuko doesn’t like you back, or whatever it is that your brain is telling you. He kissed you. He _asked_ to kiss you. And you kissed back. He _said_ that he wanted to come here with you. Zuko _likes you,_ dude. He might even love you. But him leaving wasn’t about you. Not in the slightest.”

“Well, if you put it like _that,_ then of course–”

“Bup bup bup,” Toph says, lifting a finger in Sokka’s vague direction. “I’m not done.”

When Sokka doesn’t voice a protest, Toph continues.

“This doesn’t justify what he did, but you’ve said that Zuko’s father is rich, powerful, and way too invested in his child’s life. I get that. From someone with rich and overbearing parents herself, I _completely_ understand where his head is at. There’s this overwhelming need to please them, to do what they want just to get them off your back for a _second._ Then the moment you do something—something _inconsequential_ , you get that terrible feeling like you’ve disappointed them. It’s so _stupid._ ”

Toph pauses. Sokka sits up, deliberately making noise while he does so, then lets the room descend into silence once again.

“Keep going,” Sokka says. “I’m listening.”

“What I’m saying is emotional abuse like that _lingers._ I have to work at it every goddamn day to not be insecure with my blindness like my parents are.” She exhales heavily. “Why do you think I’ve travelled so much in Europe? They used to tell me that I’d never be able to go anywhere, or do anything, all because I can’t see. So _fuck_ them. I can do everything a sighted person can. Including travelling the world. And I don’t care if they feel the same or not. I’ve come to terms with those differences, and I’ve made my peace with it.”

Once Sokka is sure that Toph isn’t going to add anything else, he says, “I didn’t know that’s why you were travelling all over Europe.”

Toph shrugs. “I finally decided that I was done trying to live by their rules. And there were a lot of rules.”

Sokka laughs slightly. “And we both know how much you _love_ those.”

“Exactly.” Toph smirks, but it fades quickly. “The thing is, Sokka, it takes a _lot_ to unlearn all the shit your parents taught you. All the shit they _ingrain_ in you. And it seems that Zuko’s done a lot of it already, but it’s always going to be a work in progress. Clearly, he still has a lot to work through.”

Sokka sighs. “Yeah.”

“I guess I had my epiphany earlier than he did,” Toph says. “I’m sure that he’s never going to be able to please his father. And that at some point, he’ll figure out that it’s not worth it to keep trying.”

“At some point?” Sokka echoes quietly, dismay colouring his tone. He sighs. “None of this explains why he hasn’t _called._ ”

“You’re really stuck on that,” Toph says.

“Well, _yeah._ I get what you’re saying about Zuko and his dad, I do _._ I’ve never gone through something like that, but I can _understand._ I just wish Zuko felt comfortable telling me all that himself. I don’t get why he won’t call me.”

“Hmm,” Toph hums.

“Oh, we’re back to the cryptic hmm’s, huh?”

Toph shifts so she’s sitting directly in front of Sokka. Sokka knows that this is Toph’s way of looking him straight in the eye. “Has anybody ever told you that men are idiots?”

Sokka narrows his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Whoever told you that, she was right.”

“It was Suki.”

“Well, there’s your evidence,” Toph says. “You know how you sent that voicemail? The one where you didn’t say a word then _hung up_?”

“Uh,” Sokka says, cringing all over again. “Yeah.”

“Have you ever thought about how that might come across to Zuko? Zuko, who probably got off the plane, saw all your messages and missed calls, then listened to your voicemail where you said _absolutely nothing?_ ”

Sokka opens his mouth.

Closes it.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Toph says. “ _Oh._ ”

“So, what, he thinks I hate him? Because I didn’t say anything on a voicemail?”

“He left you in the middle of the night, of _course_ he thinks you hate him! And that’s not even taking into account your stupid voicemail.”

Sokka hasn’t even _thought_ about what Zuko might have thought about Sokka after leaving. He was too caught up in thinking about his own feelings, too caught up in trying to comprehend that Zuko was _gone._ And then, immediately after, he’d pushed all thoughts of Zuko away, refusing to think about him entirely.

“Based on your silence, I’m guessing that what I’m saying is finally sinking into that thick skull of yours?” Toph asks hopefully.

“I—Yeah,” Sokka says. “Shit. I never really thought about it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Toph replies easily. “You were focused on you, and I think that’s fair.”

“Well… what am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know, Snoozles, I can’t give you all the answers.” Toph leans back, palms firm on the mattress behind her. “But… maybe think about texting him back? Or picking up your phone and calling him instead of waiting for him to call you?”

“But–” Sokka drags a hand through his hair, which he hadn’t bothered to tie up when he rushed to pick up Toph at the airport. “What if… What if he doesn’t feel the same way anymore?”

Toph sounds so extremely sure of herself when she says, “He does.”

“How could you even know that?” Sokka asks.

“He texted you _Merry Christmas_ ,” Toph says like Sokka’s the stupid one. After this conversation, Sokka’s starting to think that maybe he _is_ the stupid one.

“So?”

“ _So,_ if Zuko was trying to ghost you, he wouldn’t text you _Merry Christmas_. Duh.”

“Are you su–”

“Yes _,_ Sokka, I’m sure.”

Sokka exhales heavily. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute. “Wow. Okay. This is, um. A lot. To comprehend.”

“You don’t have to text him right away,” Toph tells him. “Or call, or whatever you want to do. Take some time, collect your thoughts, then let him know how you’re feeling. I know this is apparently a novel concept,” she takes a deep inhale for dramatic effect, “but maybe you should communicate with him _._ ”

“He could communicate with me!” Sokka exclaims defensively.

“He could,” Toph agrees. “But like I said before, he most likely thinks that you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” Sokka says immediately. He’s not even thinking about what he’s saying, but he knows the words are true as soon as they leave his mouth. “Even after he left, I don’t—I could never hate him. I think I—I get why he left more, now. But even when Aang told me he left, I… I never _hated_ him.” Sokka lets out a loud groan, putting his head in his hands. “Why did things have to get so complicated _?_ We were so good together _._ ”

“I think you could still be good together, Sokka,” Toph says. “You just need to talk to each other.”

Sokka is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t necessarily want to agree, but Toph is usually right about the things he consults with her about. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Maybe?”

Despite himself, he grins over at Toph. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Rude.”

Sokka flops back onto his mattress with a loud groan. As Toph also moves to lay down again, Sokka tucks his arm into his side to give her more room.

“Thank you,” Sokka says eventually. “For all that. I really wanted to talk to you. Of course, I thought that would mean a phone call _,_ but I’m definitely not complaining.”

Toph’s hand stretches across the mattress until her fingers nudge Sokka’s own. Sokka easily fits their hands together.

“You’re welcome,” she says quietly, squeezing Sokka’s hand. “And I… I didn’t just come to talk some sense into you, even though you desperately needed it. I, um. I missed you. A lot more than I thought I would.”

A joke sits right at the tip of Sokka’s tongue, but there’s something in Toph’s voice that makes Sokka hesitate. He’s glad he stops, because Toph continues a moment later.

“That’s why I didn’t pick up your phone calls all the time. Because I knew that if I did, I’d–” she cuts herself off. “I just—I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Toph. Like, so much.”

The corner of Toph’s mouth hitches up. “Of course you did. I’m very easy to miss.”

Sokka huffs out a laugh at the way she’s gone from ever so slightly vulnerable to snarky in the blink of an eye. He shuffles over so their shoulders are pressed together, their linked hands resting on his chest.

“It’s okay to miss people, you know?” Sokka tells her. “It doesn’t make you less of a person just because you miss someone.”

“You should tell that to yourself,” Toph says, not unkindly.

Sokka lets out a breath that might have been a laugh in any other situation. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I probably should.”

Toph squeezes Sokka’s hand again. “Thanks,” she whispers.

“Of course.”

* * *

It’s the second day of the new year when Aang pokes his head into Sokka’s bedroom. Sokka hits the spacebar on his laptop as he sits up in bed, trying to pretend that he hasn’t been watching more episodes of Ouran High School Host Club.

“Hey, Aang.”

“Hey, Sokka. Can I come in?”

Sokka nods. “Sure.”

Aang makes himself comfortable at the foot of the bed, crossing his legs and folding his hands into his lap.

Sokka must not have done a very good job of hiding his screen, because Aang comments, “That’s Zuko’s favourite show when he’s feeling sick.” He winces immediately after. “Oops. Forgot I shouldn’t be talking about Zuko.”

Sokka surprises even himself when he says, “No, it’s fine. I… I already knew this was Zuko’s comfort show.”

Aang hesitates. “Oh. Is that why you were watching it?”

Sokka quickly closes his laptop and shoves it underneath his pillow. “No.”

Aang looks like he knows Sokka is lying through his teeth, but much to Sokka’s appreciation, he doesn’t call him out for it. It’s quiet between them for a few long moments.

“Is everyone asleep?” Sokka asks, just to fill the silence.

“Katara, Toph, and Gran Gran are,” Aang replies. “I think your dad and Bato are still up.”

Sokka nods, lips pursed. He tries to think of another question before Aang has the chance to–

“Can we talk?” Aang asks.

Sokka sighs. He has a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what Aang wants to talk about, but he still says, “Yeah, Aang. We can talk.”

Sokka expects Aang to jump straight into talking about Zuko, but instead Aang only nods, looking around the room casually. Silence falls upon the room. Sokka waits.

“You seem…” Aang pauses. “I don’t want to say _happier,_ but… more yourself now that Toph’s come to visit.”

“I—Yeah,” Sokka replies, momentarily thrown at the unexpected topic of conversation. “I, um. I’m really glad she’s here.”

Toph had plans to stay at the Frobisher Inn, but Sokka persuaded her to cancel her booking and stay with his family. He wasn’t going to make her stay in a hotel when they had a perfectly good guest room right down the hall. She’d protested at first, but finally relented once Sokka hugged her tight and told her he wouldn’t let go until she agreed.

“You guys had a… long conversation, when she first got here,” Aang says casually. “What’d you talk about?”

Sokka eyes Aang carefully. He looks perfectly innocent, but Sokka knows what Aang is trying to get at. Sokka sighs, knowing that they were going to talk about it anyways. Might as well get it over with. “We talked about Zuko.”

“Oh,” Aang says, like he already knew that. Sokka figures he probably did. “What about him?”

“Toph helped me–” Sokka stops himself.

He’s only now realizing how stupid he sounds when he tries to verbalize how he was feeling when Zuko left. Oh well. Aang’s been here the whole time—he knows exactly how silly Sokka was being.

“Toph helped me understand Zuko’s reasoning for leaving. She, uh… she understands what it’s like to have an overbearing parent. She was able to help me realize that Zuko didn’t leave because of _me,_ but because of Ozai. And I—I already knew that, because you _told_ me that, but… it was hard for it to finally sink in.”

The hope and relief are unmistakable in Aang’s eyes before he looks away, feigning nonchalance. He plays with a thread at the edge of Sokka’s duvet cover. “Anything else?”

Sokka feels his face start to warm uncomfortably. Why are these things so awkward to talk about? “She seems to think that Zuko still likes me, despite his silence. No apology or explanation.”

Aang’s gaze snaps to meet Sokka’s. “He never apologized?”

Sokka shakes his head.

“That’s weird.” Aang’s hand seems to make an aborted movement to his pocket, as if he wants to text Zuko immediately about it. “I thought he—he said–”

“You’ve been texting Zuko?”

Aang makes a face like he hadn’t been meaning to reveal so much. “Yeah. I wasn’t for a while there, because I was really mad at him. But… yeah. We’ve been texting.”

“Is he–” The words are out there before Sokka can hold them back. “Is he… okay?”

“Um.” Aang makes a seesawing motion with his hand. “He’s alright. He thought that Ozai would be there waiting for them, but he only showed up a few days ago.”

“And Zuko’s—he’s safe?”

“Yeah, he’s safe,” Aang tells him. “I don’t think Zuko’s even seen his father yet. Or maybe he saw him today. Yesterday? Tomorrow?” He shakes his head. “Time zones.”

“That’s… That’s good.” The small confirmation from Aang is enough to soothe Sokka’s worries about Zuko. Even if he would rather Zuko be here with him, he’s still glad to hear that Zuko’s not completely miserable in Tokyo. 

“He, um. He asks about you.”

Sokka looks up so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. “He does?”

Aang nods. “I don’t know exactly what Toph said, but she was right. Zuko still likes you. And he’s sorry about leaving, even if he _apparently_ never told you that.”

“I’m… sort of seeing that now? But it’s still hard. I just want to _talk_ to him, but Zuko keeps on sending me random text messages like he doesn’t want to explain at all, and I—I don’t know.”

“Random text messages?” Aang asks.

“Yeah, like an update on his final physics grade, or pictures of Tokyo.”

Aang sighs. “You should talk to him, Sokka. Really.”

“I know,” Sokka sighs, but still, it’s easier said than done. If he texts Zuko, he’ll essentially be handing over his heart on a platter, waiting for Zuko to either take it or refuse. As much as Sokka wants to talk to Zuko, the thought of doing that terrifies him.

“Well. Now that’s all cleared up, I have something to give you.”

Sokka furrows his brows in confusion. “What?”

In lieu of answering, Aang pulls out a thin, square box from his hoodie pocket. He leans forward, placing it between them so it’s in the middle of Sokka’s bed.

Sokka stares at it.

“I meant to give it to you on Christmas, but we were so busy, and you still didn’t want to talk about Zuko. I wanted to respect your wishes.”

Sokka frowns. “What does Zuko have to do with anything?”

Aang meets his gaze steadily. “This is the gift Zuko got you for Christmas.”

“He–” Sokka stops. _He what?_ Sokka wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“Open it.”

With a trembling hand, Sokka lifts up the matte black box. It’s surprisingly heavy considering its small size, textured slightly with raised criss-crossing lines. His fingers hesitate in lifting the lid.

“He really wanted to give it to you himself, I promise,” Aang says. “But then he had to leave, and—well, you know the rest.”

“He got me a gift?” Sokka whispers. It’s mostly to himself, but Aang replies anyway.

“Designed it himself.”

Sokka looks up at Aang, confused now more than ever. “Designed–?”

“Just _open it,_ Sokka.”

Sokka focuses back on the box in his hands. Slowly, he lifts off the top, resting it gently beside him. There’s white tissue paper folded there, so he delicately peels back the layers until what’s laying inside is revealed.

He almost drops the box—he fumbles with it until he can gently lay it down on his bed next to the lid. With shaking fingers, he takes out what might be the most beautiful bracelet he’s ever seen.

The first thing he notices is the thin stone bar, long enough that it will span the length of his wrist if he were to put the bracelet on. It’s a similar texture to the box, like brushed metal, but more delicate. Attached to each side of the stone is a black leather band, carefully woven into a braid. They join together in a silver metal clasp, creating a perfect circle.

The bracelet sits in the palm of Sokka’s hands. He stares at it.

Aang lifts up the rest of the tissue paper in the box, then huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I thought he might have done that.”

Sokka looks over to see what Aang has revealed. Sitting there, at the bottom of the box, is a square piece of paper. Zuko’s handwriting, smooth and slanted, is pressed into it.

Sokka fumbles for the note the moment he notices it. He gently—but hurriedly—lays the bracelet into the lid of the box before pulling the piece of paper free. His fingers are shaking so much that he almost can’t read Zuko’s words.

_Sokka,_

_You told me once that you didn’t think you would look good in jewellery. I highly disagree._

_The stone is made up of meteorite, inspired by the night we spent watching the meteor shower. I’ll admit, I find myself thinking of that night more often than I probably should._

_It’s been over two weeks since that night, but I still look up to the sky and think of you. Maybe you’ll be able to look down at this bracelet and think of me, too._

_Yours,_

_Zuko_

Sokka blinks down at the paper, reading and re-reading the neat scrawl. The words start to blur through the building tears in Sokka’s eyes.

Zuko had designed an _entire bracelet_ based off of _one night_ they spent together?

Now that Sokka understands the inspiration, he can see how the long stretch of meteorite resembles one of the shooting stars they had spent all night watching, that the black band is clearly meant to reference how Sokka had braided Zuko’s hair.

Sokka reaches out to the bracelet once more, running his thumb over the smooth stone, the buttery leather band.

“Oh my god,” Sokka whispers.

It’s one thing to have his friends tell him that Zuko has feelings for him. But it’s another to have a physical, tangible thing to prove that Zuko might still care about him. He has Zuko’s own words, right here in his hand. Zuko wrote the note a couple of weeks ago, now—before Zuko left—but he hadn’t written it that long ago.

“That afternoon, when we left your apartment after the sleepover, Zuko spent _hours_ in his bedroom designing that bracelet. _Hours,_ Sokka. And then he drove all the way to Ottawa the next day to have it made.”

“Ottawa?” Sokka repeats, barely audible. Ottawa’s a two-hour drive from Montreal. Zuko had driven all the way to Ottawa, in the beginning of December, just to make a custom bracelet for Sokka?

Sokka loses his breath as he looks back down to Zuko’s note, at the shape of the words _Yours, Zuko,_ because it almost sounds like Zuko might… love him. The message hadn’t explicitly said so, and neither had Aang, but Sokka can read between the lines.

Aang said that Zuko spent hours designing the bracelet, that he drove to an entirely different city to have it made. Zuko had written this note, cut the paper so it would fit the box perfectly, and put it inside for Sokka to read. He said that every time he looks up at the sky, he thinks of Sokka.

That’s as good as _I love you_ in Sokka’s eyes, if all those romantic comedies are to be believed.

Zuko had made a bracelet all because Sokka made one off handed comment about how he didn’t think he could pull off jewellery the way Zuko did?

Jesus _Christ._

Suddenly, Sokka starts to feel closed in, his chest feeling too tight, his skin too warm. The tears haven’t fallen yet, but they’re threatening to with every passing second. Sokka tries to blink them back.

His voice is tellingly thick as he says, “I need to—I need to get out of here. I’m going for a walk.”

Aang looks alarmed. “But—Sokka. It’s almost midnight.”

Sokka has already pushed himself off the bed, pulling on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants over his flannel pajamas. He grabs a beanie from the top of his dresser, his movements frenetic and jerky. “Don’t care,” he says. “I’m going.”

He’s almost to the door when Aang calls out, “Wait!”

Sokka stops, his hand frozen on the doorknob.

“At least bring your phone,” Aang says. “In case there’s an emergency and you start to freeze to death, or something.”

Sokka debates leaving anyways, but after a moment, he sighs, turning back to the room. He scoops up his phone from where it’s been laying on the bed. After a second of hesitation, he gently takes the bracelet in his hands, slipping it into his pocket.

“I won’t freeze to death,” Sokka tells Aang. “I’ll be back.”

Aang nods, understanding shining through in his dark grey eyes. “Be safe.”

It’s in that moment when Sokka really starts to understand Aang and Zuko’s friendship. He’d been expecting Aang to ask _why?_ or _are you okay?_ but instead he got a _bring your phone_ and _be safe._ He gets why Zuko would need a friend like Aang.

“Thank you, Aang. Seriously.” Sokka pauses, then adds on, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Before Aang can reply, Sokka’s already out the door.

* * *

The biting wind in the dark of night turns Sokka’s tears ice cold as soon as he steps outside. He’s glad he didn’t forgo a coat in his rush to leave the house, grateful for the warmth as he starts down a well-worn trail, the snow firm beneath his boots.

He keeps his gaze resolutely on the ground, hunching his shoulders as he braces himself from the cold. He doesn’t know where he’s trying to go, all he knows is that he needed to get out, to stretch, to _move._

The bracelet feels like it’s burning a hole where it’s pressed against his thigh, even through two layers of fabric.

Does Zuko love him?

It sure seems like he might.

And Sokka… _fuck._

Sokka loves him back. Ever since Zuko left, Sokka’s been trying to convince himself that what he was feeling for Zuko wasn’t love, _couldn’t_ be love, but he’s tired of lying to himself. He’s fallen in love with Zuko, and he’s fallen _hard_.

Before Sokka even realizes what he’s doing, he’s pulling out the bracelet from his pocket, fumbling with the clasp. It’s dark and his fingers are cold and clumsy. Tears threaten to overcome his vision, but he manages to open the clasp and wrap the bracelet around his wrist. It takes even more fumbling to join the two ends together, but eventually the bracelet is secured. The stone bar is a comforting weight across his wrist, warm from being in his pocket, the leather smooth against his skin.

Sokka quickly wipes away his tears with the sleeve of his coat so his eyelashes don’t freeze. As he blinks into the dark night, he notices that in his rush to put on the bracelet, the snow beneath him has started to glow _._ In the north, that can only mean one thing.

Sokka looks up at the midnight sky to see the northern lights in their full glory. A green ribbon of light weaves its way through millions of stars, stretching high into the sky above. The light seems to shimmer and undulate like a wave in the ocean, content to carve its own path into the black night.

Sokka loves looking at the northern lights. It reminds him that he’s home, that he’s back in Iqaluit with his family. But now he finds himself looking down at the bracelet, and all he can think about is Zuko half a world away.

While Zuko’s been in Tokyo, has he still been looking up at the sky and thinking of Sokka?

Hopefully—selfishly—Sokka wishes he has.

Distantly, he hears Toph’s voice in the back of his mind. _Maybe you should communicate with him._

There’s only one way to find out.

Sokka might have grabbed a coat on the way out, but he forgot his mittens, so his fingers burn once more as he fumbles his phone out of his pocket. He doesn’t have long before it shuts itself off because of the extreme cold, so he thumbs open the text chain he has with Zuko.

He hesitates over the keyboard for a moment before hitting the camera button instead, pointing his phone to the sky.

Zuko said that he looks at the sky and thinks of Sokka, right? So Sokka will send a bit of sky to Zuko. To remind him of Sokka.

The photo isn’t a good one, rushed and slightly blurry, but Sokka sends it anyway. His heart leaps into his throat as the picture hovers above the keyboard, the blue line at the top of the messaging thread slowly inching its way to the right side of the screen. Seconds or hours later, the tiny _Delivered_ pops up underneath the photo, and Sokka exhales heavily.

Well. That wasn’t so hard.

With renewed determination, Sokka starts typing out a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration behind the design of Sokka’s bracelet can be found [here](https://www.davidyurman.com/ca/en/products/mens/mens-bracelets/exotic-stone-bar-station-leather-bracelet--b15839mss.pdp.html?swatchCode=B15839MSSBMEBKLE)!
> 
> EDIT: Y’all. There’s [art](https://ducktollers.tumblr.com/post/637416751011905537/that-midnight-sky-by-zukkababey-is-beautiful-and) for this chapter and it is absolutely incredible and stunning and you need to look at it right now. Please. I am begging.


	15. Chapter 15

Ozai arrives on Sunday, just as Azula said he would.

Zuko spends the entire day on edge, waiting for the telltale sounds of a car driving into the courtyard. He seems to jump at every little sound, enough so that when Azula slides open the guest room door without warning, Zuko almost has a heart attack.

Azula almost looks apologetic, but Zuko isn’t sure if it’s because of the abrupt entrance, or because of what she’s about to say. “His plane just landed. He’ll be here soon.”

Zuko’s sure that at the beginning of the month, Azula wouldn’t have bothered to warn him of Ozai’s impending arrival. He still isn’t quite sure why her behaviour has changed so much since they’ve arrived here. Maybe it has something to do with the forced closeness, or maybe it’s merely a by-product of being back in their childhood home.

“Thank you,” he says, unbelievably grateful Azula came to tell him, no matter her reason. Now that he _knows_ when Ozai will show up, he can already feel the tension seeping out of his shoulders. Now he has time to prepare. To steel himself to face his father.

It turns out that Zuko’s preparations are for nothing. Because Ozai arrives with surprisingly little fanfare. 

Zuko and Azula stand at the door waiting for his arrival. As Zuko hears the familiar hum of a vehicle pulling into the courtyard, Zuko’s heart starts to pound that much faster. Without meaning to, he finds himself looking over at Azula.

He doesn’t know what’s showing on his face, but it must be easy to read, because Azula gives him a small, encouraging smile, which is starting to be more natural on her face these days. But then there are the telltale signs of footsteps on the stones outside and her gaze snaps back to the door, expression carefully blank, posture stiff.

The doorknob turns, and the door pushes inwards. Zuko holds his breath. 

Relief washes over him as the person opening the door turns out to be the driver, holding Ozai’s luggage in one hand. The driver deposits the suitcase—small enough for Zuko to know Ozai’s packed only for business—right inside the door. He nods at Zuko and Azula, then walks straight back out. 

Zuko and Azula stand in the foyer, staring out across the courtyard through the open doorway. 

Zuko’s only warning is Azula tensing ever so slightly, her eyes catching movement at an angle Zuko can’t quite see. 

“Father,” she greets, bowing respectfully. Her tone adopts a strict professionalism, nothing like what Zuko has become familiar with these past several days. 

Zuko hears his father before he sees him. Ozai’s voice is exactly how he remembers it—deep, smooth, and a little bit sinister. Zuko swallows. That voice is always enough to send a chill up the back of his spine, and today is no different. 

“My daughter,” Ozai says warmly, then finally steps into view. 

“Father,” Zuko says hastily, bowing as deeply as Azula.

“Zuko,” Ozai says, and Zuko can hear disdain dripping from his name.

As one, Azula and Zuko straighten. Ozai steps further into the foyer, shutting the door behind him. While as before he’d been backlit by the sun streaming into the courtyard, now Zuko can finally see him properly. 

He looks the same as he always does—long black hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders. He’s wearing a tailored business suit that somehow looks as if he hasn’t been on a plane for the last seventeen hours. 

“Children,” Ozai says, regarding them both. “I appreciate the warm welcome. You’re dismissed.”

Zuko seems to be the only one taken off-guard by the abrupt dismissal; Azula nods sharply and turns on her heel, disappearing from sight. He watches her leave with something akin to confusion. 

“Zuko,” Ozai says, and Zuko’s attention snaps back to his father, back straightening. Ozai’s eyes narrow. “Did you not hear me?”

“No, I—I heard you. My apologies.” 

Before Ozai can say another word, Zuko bows again and makes his retreat. 

Zuko thought that he would want to _talk_ to them, at least. Ozai’s the reason they’re even here, and he has nothing to say? Zuko and Azula have been waiting for him to arrive for almost two weeks, and when he finally does, he _dismisses_ them. Like they’re nothing more than servants. 

Zuko had spent so much time mentally preparing, and it turned out to be for nothing. 

In hindsight, he doesn’t know why he expected any differently.

Now, four days later, Zuko still hasn’t seen him for more than a minute at a time. Azula’s been summoned into his office every day, but Zuko still hasn’t had a single conversation with him. 

It’s worse this way, not knowing. It makes his skin prickle, and the longer he doesn’t know, the feeling only intensifies. Ozai is finally here, but Zuko still doesn’t know when he’s going to have to be in the same room with him. 

He tries to distract himself with _Oshogatsu_ celebrations, but the new year is shaping up to be much like Christmas had been—dull and disappointing. 

He thought it would make him miss his mother, but instead, it makes him angry. He’s angry at Ozai for leaving him in the dark. Angry at Azula for her effortless ability to charm their father. Angry at his mother for leaving him alone with them both. Angry at himself for not doing enough, for not _being_ enough. 

He doesn’t know quite what to do with this newfound anger, this feeling in his chest that burns like fire and claws its way up his throat. For several days, he keeps it to himself. But on the third day of the new year, the third day of watching Azula enter Ozai’s office and leave many hours later, he’s had enough.

Before he’s consciously decided to move, Zuko is across the room, standing in front of Ozai’s office door. He’s about to push the sliding door apart and enter without permission, but at the very last second, he hesitates. Zuko doesn’t exactly have fond memories of the last time he barged into his father’s office without approval.

Slowly, he curls his hand into a fist. He knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Zuko hears through the thin wood.

Ozai’s calm tone ignites Zuko’s anger all over again, but he forces himself to take a deep breath and enter the office without ripping the door off its track. Zuko slides open the double doors just enough for him to fit through, then turns to close the doors behind him. 

“Zuko,” Ozai says as Zuko faces him once more.

“Father,” Zuko replies stiffly.

Too kindly, Ozai waves a hand towards the chairs that are opposite his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

Reluctantly, Zuko sinks into one of the two uncomfortable chairs sitting there. As a child, Zuko remembers Ozai’s important business partners sitting in these chairs, stiff and professional. Zuko feels that way now—like one of Ozai’s colleagues, sitting in a chair purposefully made to make him feel inferior.

Zuko glares at his father. Ozai stares back, completely unruffled.

“To what do I owe this visit?”

Immediately, Zuko asks, “Why are we here?”

Ozai raises a perfectly pointed eyebrow at the hard tone of Zuko’s voice. “Not even a hello? Or how are you?”

 _That would imply that I care,_ Zuko bites back. Instead, he says, “Hello, Father. How are you today?”

Ozai smiles, his eyes sharp. “Thank you for asking. I had a wonderful morning chatting with your sister.”

Zuko would ask what they were talking about if he thought Ozai would actually tell him. “I’m thrilled to hear that.”

“I’m sure you are.”

Zuko looks Ozai straight in the eye and asks once again, each word given its own emphasis, “Why are we here?”

Ozai’s demeanor remains composed. “Aren’t you excited to be back in Tokyo? It’s been years.”

“All the more reason to wonder _why we are here._ ”

“I thought you and your sister needed a change of pace.”

Zuko blinks. 

_A change of pace._ As soon as the words leave Ozai’s mouth, Zuko knows that he’s lying. There’s no way that Ozai emailed them in the middle of the night and gave them less than five hours to pack and board a plane because he thought Zuko and Azula needed a _change of pace._

“Tokyo’s a beautiful city–”

“ _Stop lying!_ ” Zuko exclaims, rising from his chair. He stands above Ozai, chest heaving. It’s too late to take back the words, so he doesn’t bother. “You’ve been here for _days,_ now. Are you ever going to tell us why the hell you wanted us here? The real reason.”

Ozai is silent for a moment, leaning back in his seat. He regards Zuko evenly. “I thought you knew.”

“You thought I— _what?_ ”

“Azula has mentioned that you two have gotten closer these past two weeks.”

“What the hell does Azula have to do with this?” Zuko asks.

The corner of Ozai’s mouth curls down in disappointment, or maybe even pity. “She didn’t tell you.”

Frustration colours Zuko’s words. “Tell me _what?_ ”

In lieu of a proper answer, Ozai leans to the side, and Zuko hears the scrape of a drawer opening and papers being rifled through. Ozai makes a thoughtful sound, then finally pulls out a thick manila folder, letting it fall in front of Zuko with a soft _thump._

Zuko looks down at the folder, swallowing thickly. The corner of a glossy photograph peeks out from the edge of the folder.

Being Ozai’s child has always included the distant reality of being constantly monitored and carefully documented. Zuko knew that such a file existed, but he’s never actually seen it with his own eyes, nor did he expect Ozai would ever show it to him. He wants to open it badly, but he also knows that whatever is in this folder is the reason why both he and Azula have been called back to Japan. His fingers twitch.

“Go ahead,” Ozai taunts. “Open it.”

With the barest touch of his finger, Zuko lifts the top of the folder up and over. He almost loses his breath when he sees the picture on top.

It’s a picture of Sokka. More accurately, it’s a picture of Sokka and Zuko standing in the university parking garage, talking over the roof of Zuko’s car. Glee is apparent on Sokka’s face, and Zuko is looking at Sokka questioningly, an eyebrow raised, lips raised in a soft smile.

Based on their clothing, Zuko knows that this was the first day that he and Sokka met. Sokka was excited about Zuko’s fancy car, and Zuko had listened to him babble on about Tesla features for the entire ride back to his apartment.

Zuko stares at the photo for a long time. He hates how Ozai has captured this particular moment between him and Sokka, one that should have stayed between them and them only. He almost wants to take the file and run, but he forces himself to push the photo to the side to reveal the one underneath. 

It’s another picture of him and Sokka, this time of them walking on the sidewalk, Appa on a leash between them. Sokka’s hands are mid-gesture, mouth open, and Zuko’s head is turned in his direction, eyes watching Sokka’s hands.

The next several photos are from that same day, all from varying angles and distances.

Zuko skims through the rest—there are even pictures of Katara, Aang, Mai, and Ty Lee from when they went out on Halloween, blurry and dark from the surveillance cameras inside the club. Others are from street cameras, like the one of Sokka and Zuko standing outside Allez Up, Sokka’s hand on the door handle, Zuko looking at him dubiously.

There are _so many photos_ that Zuko starts to get overwhelmed—by the time he gets to the last series of pictures, he’s had to slump back into his chair, knees gone weak. Zuko’s face feels hot, his entire body seemingly pumping in time with his heartbeat.

The last several pictures are from the night when the whole group went out to Applebee’s, the angles carefully chosen to see straight into their booth through the restaurant window. There are a few that only include Aang and Katara, then another that’s only focused on Sokka and Suki. Then there’s a photo of Sokka and Zuko.

Zuko’s immediately taken with the domesticity of the picture. Sokka’s arm is wrapped around Zuko’s shoulders, Zuko firmly tucked against Sokka’s side. His own face is turned down to look at Sokka’s fingers, which Zuko remembers were rubbing circles into his shoulder. Sokka’s face is in profile, turned to talk to Suki, who looks extremely amused. The angle from which the photo was taken shows Aang and Katara, too, completely absorbed in their own conversation.

There’s only one photo left. Zuko expects it to be another photo from the same night, but instead it’s a picture that Zuko instantly recognizes from the club they’d gone out to on Halloween. 

Ozai has clearly left this picture to be last. Zuko looks closer. 

The surveillance camera that caught the image doesn’t have the best quality, but the photo is clear enough that Zuko can see him and Sokka in the middle of the dancefloor. One of Sokka’s hands is pushed into Zuko’s hair, the other hidden underneath Zuko’s coat. Their bodies are pressed right up against each other, their lips locked in a passionate kiss.

Zuko lets out a long breath.

Ozai is many, many things, but Zuko wouldn’t call him overtly homophobic. His father has always had certain expectations of his children, expectations that include eventually producing heirs to carry on the family name. Expectations that can’t be fulfilled if Zuko refuses to date the opposite gender.

They’ve never talked about this, Zuko realizes distantly. Never before has Ozai brought up Zuko’s sexuality in such an explicit way. But then again, Zuko has never actually confirmed his sexuality to his father.

There’s a reason why he takes Mai to Ozai’s important events and special functions. He likes Mai’s company, but he would be lying if he said he never took advantage of his father’s assumption that he and Mai are a couple every time they arrive at functions together.

While Zuko hadn’t been lying all those months ago when he told Sokka that he’d never confirmed his sexuality to his father, Zuko still heavily suspects that Ozai knew about his attraction to men. And men only.

Ozai had never confronted Zuko about it, probably because Zuko was capable of persuading Ozai’s upper class business partners and investors otherwise. Now that Zuko has essentially confirmed what Ozai already knew, his father no longer has any reservations about finally stating the obvious.

“You must understand why you’re here, now.”

It’s not what Zuko was expecting. He looks up at Ozai, whose dark eyes are boring into his with frightening intensity.

“We’re here… what?”

Ozai seems to switch tracks entirely. “You became very close to this… boy.”

“Sokka? What does Sokka have to do with this?”

“Come on, Zuko,” Ozai sneers. “You can’t seriously tell me you thought this behaviour was acceptable.”

“I—what?”

“Hmm.” The single sound drips with contempt. “It seems you don’t. Well, I suppose I should have seen that coming, based on everything Azula has told me.”

The look of utter confusion on Zuko’s face is enough for Ozai to continue unprompted.

“Oh, right,” Ozai says as if remembering something he’d long forgotten. “Azula never told you. She let me know about the outside influences you’ve been surrounding yourself with. Without her letting me know, I never would have known that your relationship with that boy was getting out of hand.”

Zuko freezes. He finds his gaze flickering back down to the picture of the dancefloor, easily spotting Azula several feet away from where Zuko and Sokka were wrapped up in each other. The angle of her isn’t the best, half of her face caught in shadow, but she’s clearly looking towards the two of them. Zuko thought he would see anger or contempt on her face, but instead, it’s fear.

Zuko frowns, tearing his eyes away.

“I’ve also been told that you two are no longer in communication, so it seems as if your departure has had its intended effects.” Ozai smiles. “And now we’re back home. We have Azula to thank for that.”

Zuko stares straight at his father, who grins smugly back at him like he knows _exactly_ what he’s just done. “Wait, what?”

Ozai’s smirk grows infinitesimally larger, yet he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to, Zuko figures. He heard him loud and clear.

Azula had been the catalyst for them coming back to Tokyo? _Azula?_

That night he’d gone out with his friends to celebrate being done finals, Azula had told him to _enjoy it while it lasts._ At the time, Zuko had thought she was being cryptic and intentionally irritating. But it turns out it wasn’t one of her usual comments meant to get under Zuko’s skin—it had been a threat. A _warning._

And didn’t Aang say something about how Azula had already been awake when he got home, like she was waiting for him? She most likely _was,_ anticipating the chaos that was about to ensue.

Zuko’s blood boils. How _dare_ she. She had relayed to their father that Zuko was getting too close to the people—to _Sokka_ —in Montreal. She’s the reason why Zuko is here in Tokyo and not in Iqaluit with Sokka and his family. She had the audacity to _lie_ straight to his face about how she didn’t report back to their father about Zuko’s comings and goings.

Ozai’s demeanor is cool and defined, but there’s the slightest edge in his eyes, in the way he’s holding himself. Zuko can tell that he’s satisfied with their meeting, with what he’s intentionally let slip. It’s as if Ozai had planned this all from the very beginning, even though Zuko was the one that demanded a meeting.

Zuko’s suspicions are confirmed when Ozai meets his gaze levelly and says, “This meeting is over. You’re dismissed.”

Unlike before, Zuko takes the dismissal immediately, not hesitating before nodding, bowing slightly, then turning to leave the office. He has to pause as he closes the double doors softly behind him, trying to get his thudding heartbeat under control. His entire body feels hot, flush with anger.

Once he feels that he can walk a single step without punching the wall, he turns to face the hallway, stalking forward.

“Zuko?” Azula’s voice comes from up ahead, and Zuko clenches his jaw. A moment later, his sister steps out from behind a thick stone pillar. “Are you okay? I heard shouting.”

Zuko keeps his eyes trained forward. He sweeps right past her.

“I can’t _believe_ you,” he hisses as she falls into step beside him, as he thought she might.

“Me?” Azula asks innocently. Zuko doesn’t believe that tone for a second. “What did _I_ do?”

Zuko glares at her out of the corner of his eye. She looks back with wide eyes, as if ice wouldn’t melt, as if she hadn’t ripped him away from the one of the best things that’s ever happened to him–

He doesn’t say a word until they’re across the entire house, a whole wing a half away from Ozai’s listening ears. Once he’s put enough distance between them and their father, Zuko spins around, jabbing a finger towards Azula.

“You know _exactly_ what you did,” he spits. “I was _happy_ there, Azula! Why did you do that? Why did you have to tell father? We could have _stayed._ ”

Azula doesn’t flinch at the finger, doesn’t even bat an eye at Zuko’s angry words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Zuzu.” Her voice is cold and flat, nowhere near the worried tone she’d adopted when Zuko stepped out of Ozai’s office.

“Cut the innocent act, Azula,” Zuko snaps. “You think he didn’t tell me? You think Father had the decency to let you report to him anonymously? You’ve been telling him about me ever since he got home. _Before_ that, too. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Azula’s eyes narrow in the direction of Ozai’s office, mouth working. She hesitates for barely a second—if Zuko hadn’t been looking at her so closely, he would have missed the way her eyes dart around the room, as if checking for unwelcome listeners. It doesn’t seem that she finds any, but quick as a lightning strike, she grabs him by the arm. She leads him farther into the east wing, where their childhood bedrooms are. Zuko’s room is closer than hers, so she pushes open the door and shoves him inside.

To call this room _his_ would be kind of a misnomer, though. Sure, it has all his furniture in it, but he hasn’t slept in here at all, choosing instead to sleep in the guest room in a separate wing. Everything is set up just the way he likes it, but it still doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, not anymore.

It feels like a movie façade: perfectly designed, yet lifeless.

(He would wonder why that is, if he didn’t already know. He’d been hoping that this raw aching inside of him, the one that longs for a certain brown-eyed boy halfway across the world, would eventually disappear, but he can’t ignore it anymore. He misses Sokka _so goddamn much_. Way more than he did a week ago.)

Zuko expects Azula to start talking as soon as the door is closed behind her. Just to be contrary, she doesn’t. She stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed, unmoving. Her face is frustratingly blank, a far cry from the girl he thought he’d been getting closer to the past two weeks.

He knows that Azula wouldn’t have dragged him in here for no reason, so he watches her, and he waits.

Eventually, she walks over to Zuko’s bookshelf. Azula’s finger comes to trace the edge of the spines as she walks. She’s tense and controlled in a way that she hasn’t been since their day in Shibuya. It makes Zuko feel lost and weirdly alone.

Abruptly, she stops, back facing Zuko. She turns her head slightly to the side, so Zuko knows that she’s about to address him.

“You always organize these books in the same configuration,” she says. “Have you ever noticed that?”

It’s not what Zuko was expecting. “Easier to find what I’m looking for that way,” he replies.

“Precisely,” Azula says, turning back to the bookshelf. “You’re predictable. And that has always been your downfall.” She reaches out to take a stack of five books out from the shelf to get to the books behind them. They drop to the floor with a loud thump.

“Azula!” Zuko exclaims. He rushes forward to save one of the books that is surely having its pages crumpled under the other books’ weight, but Azula holds up a hand. For some reason, it makes Zuko stop in his tracks.

With delicate fingers, Azula seemingly plucks a random book out from the shelf. Zuko recognizes it as one from one of his first year elective classes. It had been on Greek mythology, and Zuko absolutely loved it. Why Azula has chosen that book over all the others is frankly beyond him.

Very slowly, she turns to face him, both hands still clutching the book. Zuko furrows his brow as she meets his gaze unflinchingly. Her eyes are unreadable.

“Azula?” Zuko asks. There’s still anger simmering under his skin, but it’s calmed somewhat. “What’s wrong?”

Without saying another word, Azula lets the book fan open, letting the pages ruffle against her thumb. The book falls open naturally—there’s a folded bunch of papers in the middle of it.

Zuko’s heart leaps into his throat. He feels his eyes widen.

Oh, _shit._

Zuko forgot that he’d hidden his first physics midterm in that book. The one with a glaring _B-_ circled in red ink at the top. His eyes fall closed; silently, he berates himself for not just ripping the damn thing up.

Distantly, he hears Sokka’s voice telling him that his failed exam would be helpful—finding where he went wrong in the first place was important in fixing his mistakes. Sokka had spent an entire hour hunched over that exam with Zuko, pointing out where he’d gone wrong and how to correct it in future physics problems. And that had been before Zuko even considered them _friends._

Still, he kept the exam. Even though he _knew_ something like this could happen.

Zuko swallows. “How did you find that?”

Azula takes the folded physics exam out of the book, then tosses the paperback to the floor. Once again, Zuko wants to protest Azula’s careless treatment of his books, but her expression makes his jaw clack shut.

She doesn’t look smug, like Zuko thought she might. Instead, her eyes are staring straight into his, and they’re _understanding._

“I know Sokka isn’t actually your boyfriend.” 

Azula is calm. Collected. Stating the facts as she sees them. Zuko wants to protest, to tell Azula that Sokka _is_ his boyfriend, but he realizes that it wouldn’t be true, even now. He left. He has no right to call Sokka _his_.

Azula continues. “He was your tutor, because you didn’t do great on your first physics midterm.”

“You—I–” Zuko doesn’t know what to say. He still can’t quite comprehend the fact that Azula’s known about Sokka being his tutor this _entire time_. Very carefully, he asks, “How long have you known?”

“The moment I walked into that damn apartment, Zuko!” she says. “I knew from the very beginning! Why do you think that I showed up?”

Zuko stares at his sister. “ _What?_ ”

Azula takes a step back as she looks away, mouth snapping shut like she didn’t mean to reveal so much.

Zuko has so many questions, he almost can’t decide on a single one to ask her. Finally, he settles on the one that he thinks is most important.

“If you’ve known this entire time, that Sokka was my… _tutor,_ ” he says the word almost inaudibly, still terribly aware that they are in his father’s house, on Ozai’s home ground. “Then _why_ haven’t you told Father?”

Because she _hasn’t_ —Zuko knows that for sure. If Ozai knew, he would have brought it up in their meeting. His father wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from bringing it up if he knew. Ozai is still wholeheartedly operating under the assumption that Sokka is—was—his boyfriend and nothing else.

Her jaw clenches, like she’s physically restraining herself from answering. “I hardly think that matters, Zuko,” she says finally.

Zuko begs to differ. If Azula has known about Sokka being his tutor this entire time, since _October_ , and she hasn’t relayed that information to Ozai, then that’s something that Zuko needs to know about.

Zuko remembers the night at Shibuya Sky, the way Azula had objected _not if I don’t need to!_ when Zuko accused her of reporting back to their father. For some reason, Azula hadn’t deemed Zuko’s less than perfect grade on his physics midterm as mention worthy. She hadn’t told Ozai about Sokka being his tutor. But she still reported the fact that Zuko had made close friends there, that Zuko was getting too close to Sokka even though she _knew_ he wasn’t actually his boyfriend.

 _Why_ would she do that? He needs to know why _._

Zuko tries to ask again, but Azula cuts in, speaking right over him. “I saw the way he looked at you, you know.”

That shuts Zuko right up.

Azula’s eyes snap to his, and Zuko is surprised to see something akin to _betrayal_ painted across her features. “And I saw the way you looked right back. I saw the way he cared for you. I saw the way your eyes softened whenever you spoke about him. So…” she inhales, then exhales softly, “I fixed it.”

For a moment, Zuko can only gape, anger rendering him momentarily speechless.

“So you admit it!” Zuko finally exclaims. He almost hadn’t expected her to be so up front about it. “You told him about Sokka. We weren’t even actually dating, and you _still_ told him about Sokka.”

“You were getting too close to him, Zuko! To all of them! What in the _world_ made you think that was a good idea? You’re such an _idiot!_ ”

“I am _not_ –”

“You are!” Azula cuts him off. “You _knew_ that we were going to leave eventually. You’ve _never_ gotten invested in other people before. What the hell happened, Zuko? What changed?”

“I did!” Zuko yells, and Azula’s jaw audibly clacks shut, her eyes going wide. “ _I_ changed. Sokka, he–” Zuko’s breath catches in his throat. Any words that come to mind to describe Sokka suddenly seem inadequate. When he looks back up at Azula, he’s surprised to see her through the blur of tears. He had barely noticed the telltale stinging in his eyes. “I think I was falling in love with him, Azula. I—I still am.”

It’s the first time he’s admitted it to himself, that he might be in love with Sokka, and it makes him feel breathless. As soon as the words pass through his lips, he knows they’re true. There’s no other way to describe this aching inside of him that hasn’t dissipated since he kissed Sokka goodbye.

Azula scoffs, the sound sharp and grating. “Love doesn’t exist, Zuko.”

Of all the things that Azula could have said, that was the very last thing he expected. “ _What?_ ” he asks, completely thrown.

As if speaking to a very small child, Azula repeats, “Love… doesn’t… exist.”

It’s silent between them for a very long time. Zuko’s voice is almost sad when he eventually says, “Yes it _does,_ Azula.”

“It doesn’t,” she retorts sharply.

“It _does_ –”

“No, it _doesn’t!_ ” she screams. She stiffens immediately at her outburst, and very quietly, almost too quiet for Zuko to catch, she says, “It can’t.”

This is uncharted territory for Zuko. He’s never seen Azula like this—eyes wild and lost at the same time, completely frayed around the edges. Her constant cool and collected exterior she’s donned for so long has finally cracked.

Just as quietly, Zuko asks, “Why not?”

The exterior breaks apart, falling to pieces at Azula’s feet. She turns on Zuko, fire sparking in her eyes. “Because Father doesn’t love me.”

Zuko blinks.

“Neither do you,” Azula whispers. “Neither did Mother.”

Azula’s soft words lance through Zuko’s chest like she’s delivered a sharp blow. Zuko opens his mouth, to say something, _anything,_ but nothing comes out. His mouth closes.

“ _That’s_ why love doesn’t exist. Because…” Her voice breaks, and she pauses. “Because I have done _everything right._ But he still stopped showing up to my _kendo_ meets. He stopped praising me for doing a good job in school. He didn’t even—” she cuts herself off, voice suddenly going very quiet. “If he doesn’t love me, even after everything I’ve done… then what?”

“Azula,” Zuko says after a moment’s silence. “Father is incapable of love. But just because he can’t love us doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.”

“That… That’s not possible.”

Azula looks so small, so broken. In this very moment, Zuko has a sudden realization that Azula is barely eighteen. She’s still so _young._

“It _is_ possible. And… maybe Father does love us, love _you,_ in his own weird, twisted way. Like when he called 1-1-9 after he…” Zuko can’t finish that sentence, so he ends it with, “After.”

Azula’s eyes meet his, and they’re wet with unshed tears. They’re confused, almost. “What?” she asks.

Zuko waves a hand, throat constricting against the bad memories. “You know,” he says. “ _After._ The ambulance came, and they drove me to the hospital. I had to get stitches.”

“But–” One of Azula’s hands forms a fist, slowly clenching and unclenching. “Father didn’t call 1-1-9.”

Zuko rears back. “No—he must have. We were at the vacation house in Taiwan. There were no servants around, there wasn’t anyone. The only other people in the house were him and–” The final word dies on his tongue. _You,_ he can’t say. _The only other people in the house were him and you._

Vertigo.

Zuko’s never experienced such a thing before, but that’s the only way to describe how he feels after he realizes that _Azula_ was the one to call 1-1-9 all those years ago. It feels as if the floor beneath him is stretching down and down and down, and he’s left standing on a precipice high above the ground. If he were to take a step forward, or back, surely he would fall into the depths below.

The world seems to spin around him. God, he’s unbelievably dizzy.

He supposes maybe that’s fitting, considering that his world has tilted on its axis, everything falling apart beneath him before slotting back together with surprising clarity.

“You,” Zuko breathes. “ _You_ called 1-1-9.”

Azula looks _caught_ , like a feral animal that’s never known the outside of its cage and is scared of the door opening.

“I…” Zuko almost doesn’t know what to say. “How? _Why?_ ”

If Zuko thought that Azula’s exterior had broken before, it’s nothing to how she completely crumples into herself now, dissolving into tears. “There was so much shouting, Zuko,” she begins through sobs. “I heard a scream… and then it got all quiet. It was quiet for so long.” Azula pulls in a wet gasp and then exhales shakily. “I went to your room. And—I saw blood. You were just… laying there. On your side. I thought—I thought you were _dead._ ”

Zuko stares at his sister, jaw sagging. He had _no idea_ that Azula saw him that day, laying on the floor in pain. She thought that Zuko was _dead._ What is he even supposed to say to that?

It turns out that he doesn’t have to say anything, because Azula isn’t finished.

“I thought…” Azula’s voice has gone very quiet, eyes distant like she’s replaying the scene in her mind. “It doesn’t matter what I thought,” she finally says, looking away. “Mother always told us to call 1-1-9 in emergencies. So… I called.”

“Oh my god,” Zuko whispers.

All this time, _all this time,_ he had believed that his father had cared enough about him to at least call the ambulance, to get him checked over and fixed up. But it turns out that _Azula_ was the one who called. Ozai hadn’t cared one bit.

What would have happened if Azula hadn’t called?

Azula is still sobbing, shoulders shaking with the way she’s trying to hold them back. “You have to believe me Zuko, I didn’t know exactly what had happened, I wasn’t—I didn’t _know_ –” she breaks off, taking a moment to breathe before continuing. “I told them that you _fell._ That there had been an _accident._ ” Her words are bitter. Venomous. “I didn’t know what he had done until it was too late. I’m…” she looks up at Zuko, dark brown eyes full of unshed tears. “I’m so _sorry._ ”

Before Zuko knows what’s happening, Azula is collapsing to the floor, her knees giving out like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Terrible sobs wrack her slight frame; her hands fly up to cover her face as the tears flow freely.

Zuko rushes to his sister, kneeling on the floor by her side. He hesitates for only a moment before shuffling closer, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. For a split second, he thinks that she’s going to push him away, but instead, she leans further into him, turning her face into his chest.

It takes Zuko almost a full minute to notice that she’s chanting _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ into his shirt. Once he realizes, he holds her tighter, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“It’s okay,” Zuko says. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Azula whispers through sobs. “I… I didn’t do enough. I’ve been trying to make up for it all this time, to keep you on the right path. I can’t change _him,_ but if you just do as he says, then he won’t hurt you again.”

Zuko stiffens, pulling away slightly. “What?”

Azula sniffs, sitting back and rubbing at her nose. “You’re different than me, Zuko. Following his orders has never come as naturally to you as it has to me. But I _can’t_ stand by and see you hurt again. If you just… do as he says… then it’ll be okay. He won’t hurt you.”

“You’ve…” Zuko trails off, because he still hasn’t wrapped his brain around what Azula is telling him.

This whole time, Azula’s been trying to look out for him? It almost doesn’t make sense. Except for how it kind of _does._

Azula only showed up _after_ Zuko had gotten a bad grade on his physics midterm. Had she somehow _known_ about that? Is that why she showed up out of the blue in Montreal? So she could keep an eye on him?

The invitation to go clubbing for Halloween must have been some sort of test, considering that Azula knew he and Sokka weren’t actually a couple. Zuko remembers Azula encouraging Zuko to talk to Mai that night, and it had been nice to catch up with his childhood friend after being apart for so long. He thinks back to the expression he saw on her face in the picture Ozai had shown him from the club. She’d been _scared_.

Azula must have been watching him and Sokka for quite some time over the months, observing and cataloguing whether or not Sokka was a threat. Zuko supposes that in the end, Azula must have thought so, because here they are in Tokyo, all because Azula had told Ozai that Zuko was getting too close to the people in Montreal.

As if she can read his mind, Azula says, “You were getting too close to him, Zuko. You have to know that.”

“Is that such a _bad thing,_ though?” Zuko asks, and it comes out more desperate than he expects.

“Yes!” Azula says, eyes wide and disbelieving. “You _know_ that father expects you to end up with a woman.”

“Yeah, I know,” Zuko says.

“So why aren’t you still with Mai? Would it really be so bad to marry her one day?”

Suddenly, Zuko feels very tired. He’s had this conversation with himself many times over the years, but something’s changed. He thinks back to a cold night at the end of November, how he saw the stars in the reflection of Sokka’s eyes, and he knows that he could never be truly happy with Mai. Not now that he knows what it’s like to lay next to Sokka in dim lamplight, with nothing but the bedsheets between them, the way Sokka smiled as Zuko pressed kisses to each and every freckle on his shoulder.

God, what he’d do to go back to that night. If he could do it over, he’d turn off his phone before he ever looked at that dreaded email, slot himself in behind Sokka, and fall back asleep.

“I’m gay, Azula,” Zuko says.

“But that doesn’t mean–”

“That’s _exactly_ what it means,” Zuko says, talking right over her. “I’m never going to marry Mai. We were never even together in the first place. She only agreed to go as my date to all those functions because she understands my… predicament.”

Azula’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Zuko doesn’t think now is the time to talk about Mai’s all-encompassing crush on Ty Lee, so he says, “I think that’s something you and Mai should talk about.”

Azula still looks confused, but she says quietly, “Okay.” The easy acquiescence is almost enough to startle Zuko, but after the emotional roller coaster that was the last twenty minutes, he wonders if anything will surprise him ever again.

“So, let me get this right,” Zuko begins. “This entire time, you’ve been trying to stop me from defying Father. Because you’re worried he’ll hurt me.”

“He’s done it before,” Azula replies immediately. “What’s to stop him from doing it again?”

“We’re not kids anymore, Azula. We know better, now.”

She doesn’t seem to have a rebuttal to that, choosing instead to watch him carefully. They’re both still sitting on the floor, and Zuko’s shirt has a wet spot near the collar that clings to his skin.

“You said love doesn’t exist,” Zuko says.

“That’s because it _doesn’t,_ ” Azula snaps.

Zuko shakes his head. “Azula… what you’ve been doing all these years, trying to protect me without me even knowing it… _that’s_ love.”

Azula looks suddenly unsure. She doesn’t disagree, though, so Zuko presses on.

“I’m sorry that I’ve never said it before, but I’ve always loved you, Azula. You’re my baby sister.” He pauses for a moment, trying to figure out how he should phrase the next bit. “Father pitted us against each other since we were kids. We weren’t raised as siblings—we were raised as competitors. I wasn’t the nicest to you, and you weren’t the nicest back.”

Azula opens her mouth like she wants to argue, then shrinks back into herself.

“I _was_ pretty nasty to you,” she eventually admits on the tail end of a laugh. “Father always praised me whenever I acted like that. I thought it was a good thing. I thought it was normal.” She looks up at Zuko, and her expression is unbelievably sincere. “Even when I realized it maybe wasn’t that normal, I still did it. I’m sorry.”

“You did it because you were scared,” Zuko says. “I get that now.”

Azula looks like she almost wants to protest, to assure Zuko that she was never scared, but in the end, she nods.

The room is quiet for a long time before she asks, almost inaudibly, “Now what?”

It’s a loaded question, one that Zuko doesn’t quite know the answer to. It feels like his entire world has been flipped on its head. Everything seems so unbelievably muddled—the things that he had believed were true for _years_ had turned out to be lies.

When Zuko was younger, he believed that Ozai hurting him was his own fault—he was the one who spoke out of turn, knowing full well his father wouldn’t like it, and Zuko had suffered the consequences.

Many years later, Zuko went to therapy. Slowly, he warmed up to the idea that his father’s physical abuse hadn’t been his fault, that he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. He eventually came to terms with the fact that Ozai had been the one in the wrong, that no parent should ever treat their children in such a way, no matter what that child said or did.

But still, even after all those realizations, Zuko still believed that his father could have the capacity to eventually be proud of him, to smile at him and say _my son_ the same way he says _my daughter._

Zuko believed this because he thought that Ozai had been the one to call the ambulance. He thought that Ozai felt bad about what he had done, that he regretted it.

Of course, Ozai had never once apologized for what he had done, or ever spoke about what happened that day again. Ozai never has regrets, but Zuko still wanted to believe that his father cared about him.

If what Azula is saying is true, then it hadn’t been Ozai who called the ambulance all those years ago. His father had hurt him, then abandoned him there, as if he expected a bleeding 13-year-old boy to know what to do after all that. His 11-year-old daughter called the ambulance thinking her older brother was dead.

The thought makes him feel sick to his stomach. His whole life, he’s been trying to make up for the deficit that his father has always seen in him, no matter how hard Zuko tried. He tried because he thought that one day, Ozai would be able to look at him and say _I’m proud of you._

Zuko thinks about how he’s been holding out hope to eventually receive the approval he craved from his father—a man who didn’t even bother to call an ambulance when he was the one who had harmed Zuko in the first place. Zuko knows now that he’s been searching for approval from his father that he will never get. He’s been following Ozai around the entire world, and for what?

For nothing. For absolutely nothing.

Aang was right. Ozai really is only one man. A cruel, vindictive, hateful man that Zuko wants absolutely nothing to do with.

But what is Zuko supposed to do with that?

Zuko’s broken out of his thoughts by his phone vibrating in his pocket. He assumes it’s Aang, because Aang is the only one who texts him these days, so he debates leaving it. But then he hears Sokka’s voice in his head, telling him to _check your texts every once in a while_ , and sighs.

“Do you mind if I check my phone?” Zuko asks Azula, because they’re kind of having a _moment_ right now, and the last thing he wants to do is ruin it by seeming uninterested. 

She looks almost surprised that he even asked, then smiles slightly. “Go ahead.”

Zuko pulls out his phone, and almost drops it in shock.

Because the name in his notifications isn’t Aang’s. It’s _Sokka’s._

Zuko has sent Sokka countless texts over the past week and a half—one thanking Sokka for all his help tutoring him, another being a screenshot of his official grades with another message of gratitude. Zuko even sent a picture of one of the temples that he went to on New Year’s Day.

Sokka hadn’t replied to any of them.

But now Sokka has _finally_ texted him back. Zuko’s heart constricts, and he rushes to unlock his phone to read the text.

It turns out that there’s nothing to read—Sokka’s sent a picture.

With shaking fingers, Zuko opens the picture to see that it’s a snapshot of the night sky. The northern lights illuminate his phone screen, a wide green ribbon of light weaving between the dark night and what looks like millions of tiny stars.

Even as Zuko is zooming into the photo to see the detail in the sky, as if Sokka has somehow written a coded message in the constellations, his phone vibrates with another text. Zuko quickly fumbles with the screen so he can read the incoming message.

It’s a long text from Sokka—Zuko’s almost afraid to read it.

“Who is it?” Azula asks.

“Sokka,” Zuko stutters, looking up.

Azula looks almost as shocked as Zuko feels. “He finally texted you back?”

“Yeah.”

Zuko doesn’t want to look back down to his phone. He can’t read the message. After all this time, after Zuko’s realization that he’s _in love with Sokka,_ he won’t be able to take it if Sokka is essentially telling Zuko to get lost.

“Read it,” Azula urges.

He shakes his head frantically. “I can’t.”

“Zuko.” Her tone is so commanding that Zuko straightens in response. “Remember that time you were sick last month, and you didn’t go to class?”

“Yeah…?” Zuko says, caught off guard at the abrupt change in conversation.

“Sokka called up to the apartment, asking to be let in. I almost wasn’t going to let him, but I could tell that he was just going to keep calling if I didn’t. And when he showed up to the door, it looked as if he was contemplating picking me up and entering the apartment by force if I didn’t let him in.”

“Okay?” Zuko is still very confused.

“I assume you told him about father’s penchant for using spies to keep tabs on us?”

Zuko nods.

“Zuko, he was going _crazy_ thinking that something had happened to you.” Azula looks at Zuko like she’s imploring him to understand what she’s saying. “He probably thought that I had figured out he was actually your tutor and told Father. I bet he assumed the absolute _worst_ when you never showed up that day for your regular meeting.”

Her words start to sink in. “Oh,” he says, barely audible.

“And _then,_ once he realized that you were _fine,_ if a little sniffly, he didn’t leave! He made you soup! He even made me soup!” Azula stares at Zuko with wide eyes. “Who does that?” she asks incredulously.

The corner of Zuko’s mouth hitches in a tiny smile. “Sokka does.”

“Yeah,” Azula agrees. “And why do you think he did that?”

“Because he’s nice?” Zuko suggests.

Azula shakes her head. “No, you idiot. You said you were falling in love with him. I watched you fall in love with him. And I watched Sokka fall in love with you right back.”

“You said you didn’t believe in love,” Zuko points out.

“I don’t,” Azula replies immediately, then furrows her brow, looking away. “But I don’t know what else to call what the two of you have.”

“Wh—But—No,” Zuko says. “He doesn’t–”

“I think he does _,_ Zuko,” Azula says. “It’s exactly the reason I told Father. If you got any closer… I don’t know what he would have done if he found out.”

Zuko thinks about Sokka mumbling _love you_ to him before the words were lost to his snores, but—even if Azula is right, and Sokka _was_ falling in love with Zuko the same way that Zuko was falling in love with Sokka, there’s no way that Sokka still feels the same way. Not after everything Zuko’s done. Not after Zuko _left._

“Even if he did love me—and that’s a big if—he can’t still, not after what I did to him.”

“Why don’t you read the text and find out?”

Zuko exhales heavily. He knew it was coming, but that doesn’t make what he has to do any easier.

He looks back down to the screen, and his reflection stares back at him where it’s gone black from inactivity. He looks back up at Azula. She gives him an encouraging nod.

He unlocks his phone and starts to read Sokka’s message before he can lose his nerve.

_zuko. sorry i haven’t responded to any of your other texts. i just needed some time to think. i thought that because you haven’t even mentioned the fact that you left, you were trying to let me down easy. that you didn’t feel the same way i do about us. but i talked with toph and aang and they both think that i should talk to you. so. can we talk? like, for real. not over text. i miss your voice. i miss you. please, just talk to me._

Zuko feels tears well back up in his eyes as he rereads Sokka’s text.

_i miss you. please, just talk to me._

He’s been hoping for a sign, something, anything that would tell him that he hadn’t messed things up irreparably between them. And now here Sokka is, telling him exactly that. He wants to talk to Zuko. He misses his voice _._

 _Who even says that?_ Zuko thinks. Despite himself, the corners of his lips quirk upward.

“Zuko?” Azula asks quietly. “What did he say?”

Zuko gives Azula his phone, then uses both hands to wipe away the fallen tears as she reads.

She looks up at him, her expression unimpressed. “You didn’t mention the fact that you left?”

Zuko narrows his eyes. “Don’t even.”

She rolls her eyes, focusing back on the screen. With a satisfied sigh, she holds out Zuko’s phone for him to take back. “I was right. He’s still in love with you.”

He takes the time to read the message again, eyes snagging on the part where Sokka thought that Zuko didn’t feel the same way about him, about their relationship. But he does _,_ he cares about Sokka so much. Zuko wants to be back in his arms more than he’s ever wanted anything, ever.

Everything that’s happened in the past hour—the meeting with Ozai, Azula’s confession, Sokka’s text—seems to coalesce into one glaring thought that won’t leave Zuko’s mind.

There’s nothing tying him here anymore.

So why should he stay?

Slowly, Zuko rises, standing on shaky legs. “I’m leaving.”

Azula stares up at him. “What?”

As soon as Zuko says the words, he knows it’s what he has to do. He doesn’t have any ties to Ozai anymore. He’s no longer under any impressions that he can somehow win his father’s approval when his father is a man who cares for no one but himself.

He nods to himself, firming his resolve. “I’m leaving,” Zuko repeats.

Azula gets to her feet. Fury is clear in her eyes, in the sharp angles of her posture.

“Zuko, you can’t… you can’t leave _._ I got you here so Father wouldn’t hurt you, and now you think you can just go back _?_ No. Absolutely not. I won’t let you.”

“Azula…” Zuko says, stepping forward. He grabs her hands and holds them tight before she can yank them away. “I’m leaving. I’m going back to Montreal. I want you to come with me.”

Azula’s hands go limp in his grasp, eyes widening. “You—what?”

“Come back to Montreal with me.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Zuko, we can’t leave _._ Father, he’ll–”

“Who cares about him? He doesn’t matter anymore. Can’t you see that now? We have been striving for something that can never be achieved. He is never going to approve of me. And if it’s love you want, you’re never going to get it from him.”

Azula is quiet for a moment. For the first time, Zuko thinks he sees realization bloom in her eyes, or maybe even hope.

“I know how much you hate it here, Azula,” Zuko says softly. “Probably more than me. Why would you stay? With _him?_ He doesn’t deserve us. And we deserve better.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and Zuko realizes that her hands are now gripping Zuko’s with renewed intensity. “If I’d known,” Azula pauses, closing her eyes. “If I’d known, when I told Father about your friends, that he was going to bring us here, I wouldn’t have said anything. Being back in this house is hell. I’m sorry I said anything at all.” She looks up at Zuko then, her expression sincere. “Not just because I hate it here, but because it was a cruel thing to do. It’s something Father would have done. And I’m sick and tired of being his spy _._ ” She looks away again.

Zuko holds his breath, waiting for what she’ll say next. He grips Azula’s hands tight.

“Are you serious about me coming with you?” she asks.

“Yes _,_ ” Zuko says, intensely focused on her face, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “Of course I am.”

Azula takes a deep breath, nodding only once. She looks up at Zuko, a small smile playing on her lips. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

They pack quickly. Zuko stands watch at Azula’s door as she throws clothes and what little personal belongings she has into her suitcase. Azula does the same at Zuko’s door, eyes careful as she scans the hallway for any movement.

Once Zuko’s finished, he stands, fingers curled around the handle of his luggage. Azula’s suitcase rests just inside the doorway.

They watch each other for a moment.

“We’re really doing this?” Azula asks.

Zuko nods firmly.

Azula blows out a breath, nodding back. “The car’s waiting outside.”

“Perfect.”

But still, Azula doesn’t move. She stares down at her suitcase with unfocused eyes.

Zuko steps closer, resting a hand on Azula’s shoulder. Her gaze snaps to Zuko’s hand, then up at his face.

“Azula,” he says. “We’re going to be okay.”

“I know that,” Azula says petulantly. “You told me the plan.”

Zuko doesn’t know if he’d call it a plan _,_ but he’s not about to correct her. Uncle Iroh has always shown kindness to Zuko—Azula, too—but they’re going to be asking a lot by showing up on his doorstep with nothing but two suitcases to their names. It’s a long shot, but he’d rather face his uncle again than stay in this house for another second. 

None of that explains Azula’s reluctance.

“Then what’s wrong?”

She makes a frustrated sound. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me.”

Azula sighs. “We’re just going to leave _?_ Sneak out?” She shakes her head, eyes hardening. “I want to look him in the eye when we tell him we’re leaving. I want to see the blood drain from his face.”

Zuko sees her determination in the furrow of her brow, in the clench of her jaw. Making a quiet departure is the smarter move—they’ll have left the country before Ozai even realizes they’re gone. But he understands why Azula needs this. She needs the chance to tell their father to his face exactly why they’re leaving. 

Confronting Ozai might be a way to finally take back some of the power that he stole from her, from _them._ It would be a way to provide closure.

Zuko could do with some closure. 

“Okay,” he says.

Surprise passes over Azula’s features. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m with you. Let’s do it.”

Azula takes a deep breath. “Alright, then.”

They carry their suitcases through the silent hallways and out the front door instead of rolling them, lest Ozai hear them. They deposit the bags in the back of the car Azula called before turning back to the house.

“Keep the car running,” Azula tells the driver. “This won’t take long.”

She stalks back through the open front door. After a moment, Zuko follows after her.

He finds her hesitating in front of Ozai’s closed office door. She’s breathing heavily.

“Shit,” she whispers. “I want to do it. But I can’t.”

Zuko watches her carefully. Anger and frustration are clear on her face.

He finds himself saying, “I’ll go in first.”

Azula looks up at him immediately. “You don’t have to do that, Zuko.”

“It’s okay,” he says, and he realizes that it is. He’s glad that Azula’s given him the opportunity to give Ozai a piece of his mind. After today, Zuko’s never going to see his father again. If he doesn’t get to talk to Ozai before they leave, Zuko knows that he’ll regret it.

Zuko steps up to the door. Without hesitating, he pushes the sliding doors apart.

Ozai looks up from the document he’s focused on. At the sight of Zuko, the corner of his mouth hitches up into a smug smirk. He puts down his pen.

“Back already?”

Zuko doesn’t give in to the goading. He looks down at his father with a broad smile and says, “I’m leaving.”

Ozai rolls his eyes, picking up his pen again and focusing back on the papers in front of him. “You don’t need to tell me when you leave the house, Zuko.” He waves a hand in dismissal.

Zuko couldn’t stop grinning even if he tried. “You misunderstand, Father. I’m leaving _._ As in, leaving this house—leaving you—and never coming back.”

Ozai lets out a long, withering sigh. When he finally glances up at Zuko, he looks bored. “Sure. I’ll see you at dinner.”

The thought of the three of them dining together after all these years is almost comical. “No,” Zuko laughs. “You won’t.”

“Oh, so you think you’re serious,” Ozai says mockingly. The bark of laughter he lets out slowly fades into a sneer. “Go ahead then! Leave! See if I care. You won’t be able to survive on your own, anyway. I have given you _everything._ ”

“You haven’t given me everything,” Zuko says, keeping his voice level. “Oh sure, you’ve definitely given me some things, like self-doubt, and paranoia, and a permanent scar _._ But you know what you haven’t given me? The ability to still be kind, and compassionate, despite everything you put me through as a child. You are cruel and hateful. No one should have to go through what Azula and I did. So we’re doing what we should have done years ago—we’re leaving.”

“Azula?” Ozai scoffs. “Azula would never leave my side.”

There’s the creak of floorboards from behind him. Zuko knows that Azula has finally stepped into the office by the way that Ozai’s gaze flickers to the side, eyes widening in shock before his expression goes carefully blank.

“Azula,” he says warmly. “I knew you’d never be part of this treasonous plot. Come here, my daughter.” Ozai holds out a hand, an invitation to stand by his side.

Azula walks forward, and for a split second, Zuko thinks that she might keep walking to Ozai’s side of the desk. Was this afternoon just a ploy to get him to reveal his intentions of leaving to Ozai? Has he been fooled by her once again?

The echo of her footsteps ring in his ears as he waits for her to sweep past him. He holds his breath.

He feels something press firmly against his shoulder, and he looks to his side. Azula meets his gaze with a soft smile, nudging his shoulder with her own once more, a wall of solidarity. Zuko grins back.

When Zuko finally looks back down at their father, the shock on his face is quickly morphing into anger. “Azula,” he bites out. “You’ve had your fun. Now come here.”

For a moment, Azula says nothing. She tilts her head, watching Ozai with a small smirk.

“Azula,” Ozai repeats. “Now _._ ”

“You know what, Father?” Her smirk transforms into a blinding grin. “No _._ I don’t think I will.”

When Zuko had announced he was leaving and defied Ozai, Ozai couldn’t care less. He had essentially given Zuko permission to leave and expressed his belief that Zuko wouldn’t make it on his own.

However, at Azula’s cutting words, Ozai is rendered speechless. The pen drops from his grip, rolling across his desk until it drops to the floor with a clatter. Zuko has to admit, watching the blood drain from his face is the most satisfying thing he’s probably ever watched.

Ozai narrows his eyes, looking between his children. “You two can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” Azula replies. “We’re leaving.”

For the first time in his entire life, Zuko watches his father flounder. Ozai’s eyes dart around the room, mouth opening and closing like he can’t decide what he wants to say, like he can’t decide on being surprised or angry.

He settles on angry.

“How dare you!” Ozai yells, rising so quickly that his chair scrapes against the floor. “I have given you children more than some people get in a lifetime _._ ” He points a warning finger in Zuko’s direction. “How dare you attempt to turn your sister against me. You are a pathetic excuse of a child, and I am disgusted that you are my son.”

Zuko can’t stop the way he flinches at Ozai’s words, but he straightens almost immediately, gritting his teeth and glaring at his father. 

Azula seems to take more offense to Ozai’s words than Zuko did. She takes a step forward, half in front of Zuko as if trying to protect him. Distantly, he realizes that she is _,_ that this is what she’s been doing for years _._

“Don’t you _dare_ speak to him that way,” she says dangerously. “Zuko’s a better man than you will ever be.” She scoffs, a derisive sound that only serves to make Ozai’s lip turn up in a snarl. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit, _Father._ Zuko’s not the one who turned me against you. You did that all by yourself.”

Ozai stares at Azula. Zuko thinks he sees his eye twitch.

Azula smirks, pleased at rendering Ozai speechless once more. She takes another step forward, and another, until there’s only the desk separating the two of them. “You thought you were being _so_ clever when you told Zuko that I was the reason we were in Tokyo, didn’t you? That’s all you’ve done for our entire lives—you’ve pitted us against each other because you were terrified of us eventually realizing that you are a horrible man and a worse father. Well,” she says, her smile growing. “That day has finally come. Zuko and I have put up with your snide comments and cruel behaviour for far too long. We’re leaving. Don’t try to stop us.”

Azula spins on her heel, regarding Zuko evenly. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

“Not at all,” Zuko replies. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Wonderful.” Azula sends a sharp smile over her shoulder to Ozai. “The next time I see you, you’ll be behind bars.”

The outrage on Ozai’s face multiplies tenfold. “Is that a threat?”

“Not a threat,” Azula says calmly. “It’s a promise.”

As soon as Azula turns to leave, Ozai yells, “If you take another step, you can consider yourself an orphan. Say goodbye to the monthly allowance you loved so much.”

Azula doesn’t even falter—she walks straight out of the office without so much as a glance behind her. Zuko takes a moment to look Ozai directly in the eyes. His expression is steady.

Zuko’s said everything he wants to say. Without another word, he follows his sister out of Ozai’s office, down the hallway and into the foyer where Azula is waiting for him. His grin is so wide, his cheeks start to ache. 

“Ready?” she asks.

As he joins her in the foyer, Zuko catches his own gaze in the mirror that hangs on the wall, large and gold and terribly ornate. For just a second, he doesn’t see his own reflection staring back at him—despite his grin, he sees their father with his long black hair and fierce dark eyes.

“Yeah,” Zuko says, looking down at his hair that looks so much like his father’s. “But there’s one more thing I need to do.”

“Right now?” Azula asks. “We need to go.” Zuko looks up at his sister to see her hand outstretched towards him, eyes wide and expectant.

“You’re right. It can wait,” he decides with a quick nod.

He puts his hand in hers, and together they rush out the door, across the courtyard, and into the waiting car. As if sensing their urgency, the driver has the car moving before Azula’s even finished shutting the door behind her.

Together, Zuko and Azula turn to watch out the back window as their childhood home shrinks into the distance.


	16. Chapter 16

“Fuck,” Azula says as a gust of wind rips through the dark street. She clutches her jacket closer to her chest. “It got cold while we were gone.”

Zuko barely feels the biting chill. He looks up at the flickering sign of the Jasmine Dragon through a flurry of thick snowflakes. 

With the chaotic rush to the airport and booking a last minute flight to Canada, it was easy for Zuko to focus on each immediate step and not the end destination. But now here they are.

The tasks had been simple enough:

Drive to the airport. Purchase two tickets for the next flight to Canada with Ozai’s credit card and hope that he hadn’t cut them off already. Board the flight. Pretend to sleep. Wait for six hours in the Vancouver airport before the next flight to Montreal. Get their bags from the suitcase carousel. Hail a taxi. Recite to the driver the address of a tea shop that Zuko’s had memorized for four years.

Get out of the taxi. Enter the tea shop.

_Enter the tea shop._

For some reason, Zuko can’t bring himself to finish the last step on his list. The sidewalk has been cleared of snow, but Zuko feels like his feet are cemented to the ground with ice. He can’t move.

Azula senses his hesitation. “Zuko? This is the right place, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, barely audible over the howl of the wind.

“This is where you stayed when we were here last?” The tone of her voice doesn’t invite a confirmation. She toes the crumbling brick that has fallen to the sidewalk, eyeing the faded awning above the door. She opens her mouth but falters, closing it again with a strange expression on her face. After she takes a deep breath, she says, “It’s… quaint.”

Zuko still doesn’t reply.

“I wonder why Father let you stay here,” she says. “You know, especially after Uncle… uh.”

“After Father had him extradited for trying to help us?”

Azula sighs. “I was trying to find a way to word it better, but yeah.”

Zuko flexes his fingers on the handle of his suitcase; they’re starting to go numb. “I didn’t think much of it back then, but now I’m pretty sure it was a way for Father to show Uncle that he won. That he still had the upper hand. Give him a tiny bit of what he could never have. I don’t know. It’s not like Father invited Aang and I to stay in the house he was leasing.”

Azula’s gaze snaps to Zuko’s. “Wait, what?”

Zuko frowns at his sister. He thought she’d known. “Father dropped Aang and I off here, spoke with Uncle for a few minutes, then left. I didn’t see him until he came to tell us we were leaving for Thailand.”

“But–” Her eyes have gone distant, staring over Zuko’s shoulder with unfocused eyes. “He told me that you thought you were too good for us. That you’d chosen to stay with a traitor.”

Zuko gives her a flat look.

“I’m _sorry,_ okay?” Azula huffs. She looks down at the sidewalk. “At least you didn’t have to live with Father.”

“Yeah,” Zuko replies softly, watching the play of emotions over her face.

It’s quiet between them until another gust of wind blows through the street, sending snowflakes rushing through the air.

“You know we’re going to have to go _in_ at some point, right?” Azula asks. “It’s not getting any warmer out here.”

“I know,” Zuko says immediately, but still, his feet feel frozen to the ground.

Azula narrows her eyes at him, pulling her coat tighter around herself as she turns to face him. “Why are you so nervous? What’s wrong?”

“Uncle and I… we didn’t exactly leave on the best terms,” Zuko says.

Azula raises her eyebrows, waiting for further explanation. Reluctantly, Zuko continues.

“He wanted me to stay with him. He didn’t want me to go with Father.”

“But you still left,” Azula says.

“I didn’t think I had any other choice.” Zuko shakes his head. “The look on his face as I packed my bags—it still haunts me, Azula. He hates me. I know he does.”

Azula watches him for a long moment. “You wouldn’t have brought us here if you didn’t think he’d help us.”

“Well—I–”

“Stop trying to make excuses. I’m three seconds away from becoming a human popsicle.”

Zuko stares at her, willing her to understand where he’s coming from. She looks back expectantly.

“It’ll be _fine,_ Zuzu,” she says. “He wanted to help us before. Why would that change?”

“Because he _hates_ me,” Zuko says.

Azula rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. I’m going inside before he closes the shop and locks us out. Are you coming with me or not?”

Zuko’s heart leaps into his throat as Azula grabs the handle of her suitcase, wheeling it behind her. She pushes open the door and the familiar tinkle of the bell ringing above the door snaps Zuko out of his reverie. He quickly follows after his sister, hand flying out to stop the door from slotting closed behind her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice calls from down the hallway, where Zuko knows the kitchen is. “We’re just about to close. If you want, I can always get you a to go–”

Uncle Iroh finally steps out from the kitchen, teapot in hand. His eyes go wide as he spots Azula, jaw dropping.

“Azu–”

Zuko finally steps into the shop, letting the door fall shut behind him. The bell above him tinkles. 

Uncle’s gaze snaps to Zuko. The cast iron teapot he’s holding slips from his fingers, crashing to the ground with a loud clang, sending hot water spilling across the floor. 

Zuko winces. Iroh doesn’t flinch.

“Uncle,” Zuko says, barely audible.

Iroh stays very still, the only movement being his eyes flickering between Zuko and Azula. He doesn’t say a word.

“Uncle,” Zuko tries again, voice steadier this time. “I know you must have mixed feelings about seeing me again, but I wanted to tell you–” His breath hitches; it feels as if his throat is closing.

Azula steps over to Zuko’s side. Her strong grip around his arm grounds him.

“You got this,” she whispers.

Zuko swallows around the lump in his throat, nodding slightly. Azula doesn’t let go of his arm.

He looks back up to his uncle, who’s been watching their short interaction with a keen eye. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry _._ I’m so sorry that I didn’t listen to you back then. I was _scared._ ” Zuko tries to blink back the impending tears. “I was scared about what Father would do if I didn’t follow his orders, and I—I still craved his approval. But I…” Zuko looks up at Azula. She gives him a single nod, smiling encouragingly. “We,” he makes a conscious choice. “We’re not scared anymore. We’re done. We left.”

Uncle Iroh blinks rapidly, and Zuko continues.

“I understand if you want nothing to do with us. I understand if you hate me, especially after how I left things with you. But I just wanted to tell you how _sorry_ I am–”

Zuko’s been so focused on getting the words out that he barely registers Uncle crossing the room, unfazed by the spilled tea. Before Zuko knows what’s happening, Uncle has grabbed both him and Azula, pulling them into a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, Zuko,” Uncle says. His hand comes up to rest against the back of Zuko’s head, and Zuko feels his tears spill over at the sheer gentleness of the touch. “I could never hate you.”

“What?” Zuko says weakly. “I thought you’d be furious with me for leaving.”

“I was never angry at you, Zuko,” Uncle says, still clutching Zuko and Azula tight. “I was sad. I thought I would never see you again.”

Zuko lets out a shaky breath, finally sinking into the hug, wrapping his arm around Uncle’s back and holding on.

“And Azula,” Iroh says, eventually pulling away from the hug. He raises a hand to cup Azula’s cheek—Zuko’s surprised to see a glassy sheen in Azula’s eyes. “Look at you! You’ve grown into a young woman!”

Azula lets out a small laugh, the curve of her lip wobbling as she attempts to smile.

“Did I hear you right?” Uncle directs the question to Zuko, expression turning serious. “You’ve left?”

Zuko wipes a few errant tears away from under his eye. “We told Father we were leaving. He said we would be orphans if we walked out of his office.”

“And here you are,” Uncle says.

“And here we are,” Zuko repeats.

Iroh places a hand on Zuko and Azula’s shoulders, looking them both in the eye before continuing. “You two are so brave. Braver than anyone I know. You both are welcome to stay with me for as long as you need. You’ll be safe here.”

“How can you be sure?” Azula asks before Zuko has the chance to.

“You two don’t need to worry about a thing,” Iroh says. His expression is hard, eyes glinting protectively. “I promise that I will keep you safe.”

Uncle pulls them into another hug. This one is just as crushing as the first, but Zuko sinks into it immediately, chin slotting over Iroh’s shoulder. Azula’s hand finds Zuko’s around Uncle’s back, folding their fingers together and squeezing tight.

Zuko squeezes back just as hard.

* * *

Sokka lays in bed on his side, back facing away from the door. It’s the middle of the day, but the room is dark, blinds drawn closed. Momo lies curled up on the pillow across from him, watching Sokka with sleepy eyes.

There’s a faint knock on his bedroom door, then the whine of hinges as the door pushes open.

“Sokka?” Aang whispers. “Are you asleep?”

“No.”

The mattress dips behind him as Aang sits down.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Zuko still hasn’t called, huh?”

Sokka doesn’t think Aang’s question warrants a response, because the answer is pretty obvious. Of course Zuko never responded. Sokka had put his heart on the line in that text. It’s not like he expected an immediate reply, but anything would have been better than the glaring nothing he received in response.

“Well,” Aang says. “Look on the bright side–”

Sokka snorts derisively. “It’s been _four days,_ Aang. If Zuko was going to call, he would have by now. There is no bright side.”

It’s been a long four days, too. The three of them arrived back in Montreal yesterday, and hugging his family goodbye at the airport definitely hadn’t improved his mood. Toph had hugged Sokka tight before she boarded her own flight back to Italy and told him to be patient, that Zuko would respond eventually. 

But Zuko hasn’t responded. Sokka’s losing hope that he ever will.

Needless to say, as soon as Sokka got back to the apartment, he crawled under the covers and hasn’t left since.

Aang is quiet for a long time, but he doesn’t get up from the mattress, so Sokka knows he’s still there. Eventually, he lets out a soft sigh. “Give him time, Sokka.”

“I’ve given him time. Plenty of time.” With a huff, Sokka clutches the blankets closer, tucking them under his chin. “School starts again on Monday. I’m giving myself until then to feel sorry for myself, and then I’m going to forget Zuko completely. Sound good?”

“Sokka…” Aang says softly.

Finally, Sokka looks over at Aang, whose eyes are wide and soulful, mouth turned down unhappily. “Just let me be sad for a while, okay?” Sokka says. “I promise I’ll be back to normal at some point.”

Aang watches him for a long moment, then nods. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want,” Sokka confirms.

Aang nods again. “Katara and I are going to take Appa on a walk. I don’t suppose you want to join us?”

“No, thank you,” Sokka mumbles into his duvet.

“Okay.” Aang pats Sokka’s knee through the blanket. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Have fun,” Sokka says as Aang leaves the room. He listens to the now familiar sounds of Appa’s happy pants and the skitter of his nails against the floor as Aang clips the leash into his collar. There’s a soft conversation between Aang and Katara, but it’s too quiet for Sokka to make out the words. Finally, the apartment door opens and closes, and then Sokka is surrounded by nothing but the quiet.

He must end up falling into a doze, because the next thing he knows, he’s being awoken by his phone ringing. If Sokka had any lingering hope that Zuko was going to call, he might have jumped to grab it. Instead, he lets it ring.

After a second of blissful silence, the ringing starts up again.

“Ugh,” Sokka grunts, rolling over to grab his phone from the nightstand. The caller display tells him that it’s the apartment buzzer—someone wants to be let into his apartment building.

Sokka rolls his eyes. Aang and Katara are probably back from their walk already, choosing to bother Sokka instead of letting themselves in with their key. He debates declining the call, but ultimately decides against it. Both Aang and Katara have actually been really understanding ever since they all got back to Montreal. As much as Sokka wants to take out his frustration with Zuko on them, he knows that wouldn’t be fair.

He answers the call, types in the combination that will open the door for them, then hangs up. Sokka rolls back over and closes his eyes.

He gets another five minutes of silence before he’s interrupted once more, this time by Aang and Katara knocking on the door.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sokka mumbles under his breath to himself, throwing back the covers and getting to his feet. “You two are the ones who left the door unlocked and now you’re going to knock on the door and make me open it for you? I take back everything nice I’ve ever thought about you, I swear to god–”

Sokka cuts off his petty ranting as he gets a hand around the knob, yanking the door open.

At regular volume, he says to the people in the hallway, “I can’t believe you two–”

Except Aang and Katara aren’t the ones in the hallway. In fact, there aren’t two people standing in front of his door at all. It’s only one person.

Sokka blinks, resisting the urge to rub his eyes to make sure that he’s not seeing things. Because surely this isn’t real, surely this isn’t who he thinks it is standing in the hallway outside of his apartment door.

“Hi,” Zuko says softly.

Sokka pulls in a sharp breath. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

The corner of Zuko’s mouth twists downward. He wrings his fingers together, then raises a hand like he’s about to tuck his hair behind his ear, then lets it drop to his side awkwardly. It’s only then that Sokka realizes what’s so different about him.

Faintly, Sokka says, “Your hair.”

It’s not even a fully fledged thought, or even a question, but Zuko understands anyway. He runs his fingers through the short strands, and the movement only makes it look even more effortlessly tousled.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “I, um. I needed a change.”

Sokka can only stare. He doesn’t know how he missed the difference at first—maybe too shocked at the fact that Zuko is actually here, standing right in front of him. Gone is Zuko’s long, black hair. Now, the slight curls barely reach the tips of his ears, tumbling over his brow.

“Oh my god,” Sokka says. He still can’t quite believe his eyes.

Zuko’s close enough to touch. Sokka’s fingers spasm where he’s still holding the door knob.

After a moment of tense silence, Zuko asks, “Can I come in?” 

As if Sokka could say no. 

He steps backwards, opening the door to let Zuko inside.

Just that simple movement is enough for Zuko shoulders to slump. “Thank you,” he says as he passes. He stops in the middle of the apartment, turning to face Sokka. His arms are wrapped around himself, but he eventually drops them to his sides, fingers drumming restlessly on his thighs.

Sokka closes the apartment door then leans on the back of it. He pointedly crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow as he does so.

“So…” Zuko says, looking around the apartment. “How’ve you been?”

Sokka opens his mouth, but once again, nothing comes out—he’s rendered completely speechless. That’s what Zuko’s going to lead with? Asking how Sokka’s been when these past few weeks have torn Sokka apart from the inside out? Like Zuko doesn’t know how hard Sokka’s taken his absence?

In the silence, Momo emerges from Sokka’s room. The cat’s clearly noticed that Sokka has given up on napping and chose to do the same. He immediately curls between Zuko’s legs, mewing insistently.

Zuko bends down to scoop Momo up, scratching the cat behind the ears and murmuring quietly to him. Sokka can hear Momo purring from where he stands. He looks away, refusing to feel jealous of his stupid cat.

After a moment, Zuko sets Momo down, looking up at Sokka with trepidation. “I hope you’ve been alright.”

“Alright?” Sokka finally manages disbelievingly. “Jesus, Zuko.”

Zuko winces. “What do you want me to say, Sokka?”

Sokka’s heart clenches just at the way Zuko’s voice sounds around his name. It’s been so long. “Where do I even start? How do you explain you leaving me in the middle of the night? Or why you never explained. You didn’t send a single text!”

Zuko’s eyes go wide. “I sent you an apology!”

Sokka shakes his head. “No, you didn’t.”

His expression turns lost. “But…”

“If you sent me anything,” Sokka says, “I didn’t get it.”

“I—On the plane,” Zuko starts. “Right before takeoff. I said sorry. It… It must not have sent.”

“That’s all you said?” Sokka asks. “ _Sorry_?”

“I _knew_ that it wasn’t enough, but there wasn’t time for anything else—it all happened so fast.”

“What happened that night, Zuko? I woke up and you were gone.” Sokka meets Zuko’s eye, then quickly looks away, swallowing thickly.

“I’m so sorry, Sokka,” Zuko says quietly. Sokka hears rather than sees Zuko take a step forward, the floorboards creaking slightly. “For leaving like that. I swear when I left your apartment, I didn’t think I was about to leave the country.” He starts strongly, then trails off, lost for words.

Zuko turns away, and Sokka looks up to see Zuko raking a hand through his hair. Sokka recognizes the gesture from weeks of tutoring sessions. Whenever Zuko got frustrated, he would push the long strands up and out of his face. Now the movement only serves to make his hair stick up in odd directions.

With a sigh, Zuko turns back to Sokka. “Remember when I told you about my father?”

Sokka nods.

“He’s not exactly someone you say no to. He told Azula and I to meet him in Japan. It was extremely rushed. He’d only given us four and half hours to pack and get to the airport. I thought that maybe he found out about the tutoring. Either way, something was wrong.” Zuko lets out a heavy exhale. “So I left. But Sokka, I promise _,_ when I left your apartment that morning, I didn’t think I would actually be leaving you _._ ”

“I know,” Sokka says, and he can’t help the bitterness from seeping into his tone. “I remember. You said you’d be right back. You told me to go back to sleep.”

Zuko’s lips part, eyes wide. For a moment, he’s stunned silent. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“Well,” Sokka says. “I do.”

“Right.”

Sokka watches him expectantly. When Zuko doesn’t start talking, Sokka asks, “Why didn’t you ever text me an explanation? Or call me back?”

“Sokka, your–” Zuko sighs, squeezing his eyes shut.

Zuko takes a minute to collect his thoughts. Sokka waits.

After a long while, Zuko continues. “I got the texts you sent before you realized I’d left. And… your voicemail. I was so nervous that I’d fucked everything up between us, but I listened to it as soon as I had reception. And then… you didn’t say anything. I thought that was your way of telling me you didn’t want anything to do with me. You scoffed _._ ”

Sokka straightens, pushing off the apartment door and walking towards Zuko until they’re only a few feet apart. “I didn’t scoff!”

“Well, it sounded like you did!”

“I didn’t scoff,” Sokka repeats. “I just… I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t want to leave a voicemail.”

Zuko’s jaw clacks shut. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet between them for a long time. Sokka watches Zuko silently while Zuko resolutely looks anywhere but Sokka.

“After your voicemail,” Zuko begins, “I was waiting on a message from you. I thought that maybe you needed space. That you needed some time before reaching out. So I didn’t want to bring it up.”

“I was waiting for you to explain,” Sokka says.

Zuko lets out a laugh, but it’s dull and devoid of any humour. He finally looks up at Sokka. “You still sent that message.”

“And you never responded!”

Zuko stares. “Wait, what?”

“I sent you that text literally telling you to call me. But you still didn’t.”

Zuko’s gaze flickers to the side, eyes going distant. “Wait, when did you send that text?”

“ _Four days ago._ ”

Zuko’s eyes go impossibly wide. “Oh, shit. Sokka, I’m… I’m so sorry. The past few days have been hectic, to say the least. I got your text right after a really important conversation with Azula, and we sort of like, disowned our father. Then we flew back here.”

Sokka opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You remember my uncle? He, um. He lives here. In Montreal. Azula and I, we’ve been staying with him for the past few days, just getting everything sorted out. He knows a guy who knows someone that got me and Azula enrolled back at McGill. I’m, uh–” Zuko lets out a laugh and a tiny smile crosses his face. It’s the first one Sokka has seen since he entered the apartment. “I’m a Liberal Arts major now. I was only doing business because my father wanted me to, and it was awful. So, I’m doing something I like this time.”

Sokka takes a moment to absorb all that information. “You reconciled with your uncle? Zuko, that’s—wow. I know how worried you were about facing him again. I’m really happy for you. That’s amazing.”

Zuko’s smile grows ever so slightly larger, head turning to the side as he looks away. The movement makes Sokka’s heart clench, because he knows that was Zuko trying to hide his growing blush with a curtain of hair that’s no longer there.

Quietly, Zuko says, “Thanks.”

Sokka nods, putting his hands into his pockets. “So you’re back at McGill, then. Living with your uncle. That’s… cool. I’m glad you’ll be doing something you actually like.”

“Me too,” Zuko replies.

Sokka and Zuko look at each other for a long minute. Eventually Sokka has to ask a question, because Zuko sort of mentioned it, but he didn’t say it outright and Sokka needs to know if–

“What made you want to come back?” Sokka asks.

“Um,” Zuko says, and if it’s even possible, his blush grows even darker. “You said you remember the night that I left, right? When I woke you up?”

“Yeah.”

“You, uh.” Zuko clears his throat. “You said something. At the time, I didn’t want to believe it, because—well. You were half asleep. But then you sent that text, and I thought maybe it was true, that you maybe still felt the same way.”

“But–” Sokka shakes his head with a frown. “I don’t remember saying anything. What did I say?”

For some reason, Zuko looks completely stricken. “Oh. Um, never mind then, it’s not important.”

“No, tell me. I want to know what I said.”

Zuko hesitates, fingers fiddling with something on his wrist. It takes a moment for Sokka to figure out what it is, because while Zuko may like rings and long necklaces, he’s never worn bracelets. With a start, Sokka realizes it’s the hair tie that he gave to Zuko the night he braided his hair. Zuko’s hair is too short for a braid now, and yet, he still has it. Sokka’s heart does something funny in his chest.

“You said…” Zuko sighs, biting his lip before releasing it. “You said that you loved me.”

Sokka feels his lips part. He what now _?_

He looks away, thinking back. That had been weeks ago. He hadn’t even admitted to himself that he loved Zuko until a couple weeks after that night. How did his unconscious brain know that he was in love with Zuko before he did?

When Sokka looks back to Zuko, Zuko’s expression has shuttered completely, carefully blank. “Right. You know what, coming here was a mistake.” He quickly skirts around Sokka to get to the apartment door. “I shouldn’t have–”

Sokka’s arm shoots out before he realizes he’s even moved. “No, Zuko, wait–”

Zuko freezes, turning to look down at where Sokka has wrapped his fingers around his arm. He deflates completely, arm going limp in Sokka’s grip.

Sokka pulls his hand back immediately, about to apologize, but Zuko catches his hand before it drops to his side. His gaze hasn’t left Sokka’s wrist.

“You’re wearing it,” Zuko says, almost too quiet to hear.

Sokka finally looks down to where Zuko’s eyes are transfixed. Warmth blooms high on Sokka’s cheeks as he sees what Zuko’s noticed. 

On his wrist, his hoodie sleeve pulled up from the reach, is the bracelet that Zuko got him for Christmas.

Sokka presses his lips together. Should he admit that it’s barely left his wrist since he put it on? That he only takes it off to shower and even then, he still doesn’t want to? That every time he catches a glimpse of it, he thinks of Zuko?

“Of course I’m wearing it,” Sokka finally replies. “You got it for me.”

Zuko’s gaze snaps up to meet Sokka’s, eyes wide and vulnerable. “But—You said you didn’t–”

“I didn’t say anything,” Sokka replies. “Or… I guess maybe I did. But that’s not—I just–” He makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, then looks back up to Zuko with a faint edge of desperation. “Why’d you come back, Zuko? Why are you here? Tell me why you’re here.”

“I got your text,” Zuko says faintly. “I had convinced myself that you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I _left you._ ” Zuko squeezes Sokka’s fingers, and Sokka can see another unspoken apology in the sheen of his eyes. “But then there you were, telling me that you thought I didn’t feel the same way about you, when I do _._ Or at least, I think I do. You said that you missed me, and that you wanted to talk. Not over text.”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, letting out a wet laugh. “I meant like, a phone call or something, idiot. But this works too.”

Zuko blinks. “Oh. I didn’t even think about a phone call. Azula and I got on the first plane out of there.”

Sokka starts to smile, so wide that his cheeks begin to ache.

“Sokka, I–” Zuko stops, shifting so he’s looking Sokka square in the eye. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before saying, “I love you. I’m in love with you. And I—I want us to be together. Like before. Except for real this time.”

Sokka wouldn’t be able to stop grinning even if he tried. “It was always real, Zuko. From the very beginning.”

“But–” Zuko frowns, hesitant. “When you kissed me, on Halloween, I thought–”

“I kissed you because I wanted to. Or maybe because I was jealous. I didn’t do it so Azula would see us. I don’t know why I said I did.”

“Jealous?” Zuko asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You spent the whole night with Mai,” Sokka tells him. When Zuko only gives him a blank look, Sokka continues, “Your ex?”

Zuko makes an odd choking noise. “My what?”

“Azula told me you two used to date!”

Zuko shakes his head. “Mai and I have never been together, not like that. We went to events together that my father would be at, and if he and Azula got the wrong idea, well.” Zuko shrugs.

“Oh,” Sokka says. “I did… not know that.”

Zuko squeezes Sokka’s fingers where they’re still linked together, a quiet moment passing between them. Sokka squeezes back gently.

“Do you remember that day you were sick, and I came over?” Sokka says. “I was going to tell you how I felt. But then—you said you were glad we were friends _._ And I thought that’s all you wanted to be. Friends.”

“No, not at all,” Zuko says sincerely. “I thought _you_ wanted to be friends.”

“How _?_ ” Sokka asks on the tail end of a laugh. “I was so obvious.”

“You–” Zuko makes an aborted hand gesture. “I don’t know! Not a lot of—I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with friends. Or boyfriends. Or fake boyfriends. I didn’t know what the rules were _._ ”

“Zuko,” Sokka says softly. He lets go of Zuko’s fingers, both hands coming up to cradle either side of Zuko’s jaw. “I love you. I’ve been in love with you. For a while, probably. But I didn’t realize until I read your note.”

“My note?”

“The one you put in the box with the bracelet.”

Zuko’s mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ shape. “Oh, fuck. I forgot all about that.” His hand comes up to cover his face. “I meant to rewrite it. That’s so embarrassing.”

Sokka smiles. “Do you really look up at the sky and think of me?”

Zuko sighs, letting his hand drop, looking up at Sokka. “I mean—yeah. I do.”

“God, I love you so much.”

The corner of Zuko’s mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but he’s trying not to. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Sokka whispers. “I do.”

He smiles, stepping impossibly closer into Zuko’s space. Their noses brush as Sokka slowly leans in, and Zuko’s gaze flickers down to Sokka’s mouth.

Before he closes the distance, Sokka opens his mouth to whisper–

“If you ask to kiss me, Sokka, after all of that, I swear–”

Sokka leans forward to press their lips together, and Zuko immediately falls silent to kiss him back.

The kiss is soft and tender, delicate in the best of ways. Their past kisses had always been deep and passionate, the spectacular result of built up tension between them. Now, Sokka gently coaxes Zuko’s lips apart, smiling as Zuko opens up willingly beneath him. Zuko’s fingers trail up the side of his neck and into Sokka’s hair, his other hand roaming down to ruck up Sokka’s sweatshirt. A warm hand slides over his hip, up his back, and Sokka can’t stop the soft gasp from escaping past his lips.

“When you left,” Sokka says, voice gravelly as he pulls back, barely a breath away. “I thought I’d lost this. I thought I lost you _._ ”

Zuko shakes his head, his eyes closed, brow furrowed with some type of overwhelming emotion. Sokka swipes a thumb over Zuko’s scarred cheekbone, palm still cupping Zuko’s jaw, and Zuko turns his face into it. 

“You didn’t,” Zuko says. “You _couldn’t._ I’m…” he trails off, letting out a soft laugh. “I’m so far gone for you. Doesn’t matter where I am.” Zuko blinks his eyes open, brown irises peering steadily at him.

“If it wasn’t already obvious,” Sokka says, “I’m pretty gone for you, too.”

Zuko’s the one who leans in this time, pressing forward to connect their lips once more. Sokka kisses him back insistently, pushing a hand into Zuko’s hair. He has to pull back once more with a laugh, letting the short strands slip through his fingertips.

“I can’t believe you cut your hair,” Sokka says.

Zuko raises a hand self-consciously to the black strands, pushing them off his forehead. His hand comes to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers brushing through the short hair there. “Yeah. When Azula and I left, I saw myself in the mirror. I couldn’t shake this feeling that I looked exactly like my father, so… when I arrived back here, I got it cut. I didn’t want to have him following me around everywhere I went.”

Sokka leans forward to press a kiss to Zuko’s temple. “You’ll have to tell me what happened,” he murmurs. “But for now, I just want you to know that I’m proud of you. Standing up to your father couldn’t have been easy, but you did it anyway. You’re so brave, Zuko.”

Zuko’s eyes fall closed, arms circling around Sokka’s waist. Sokka wraps his arms around Zuko’s shoulders and hugs him close. The tip of Zuko’s nose is cold when he turns his face into the crook of Sokka’s neck.

Sokka doesn’t know how long they stand there, in the middle of his apartment, embracing. He’s content to stand here for as long as Zuko wants, revelling in the weight of Zuko’s arms around his waist, the feeling of Zuko’s heart beating in time with his own. 

They break apart only when they hear the knob to the front door turning, watching as it pushes inward and Aang, Katara, and Appa step inside.

Katara is the first one to spot Zuko. She stops in the small entryway abruptly, eyes widening in shock.

Aang continues with his story, one hand still in Katara’s, the other holding Appa’s leash, gesturing wildly. “Can you even believe that?” Aang says. “And then he…” Sokka watches as Aang slowly trails off, head tilting as he sees the way Katara’s gone completely still. 

The rest all seems to happen in slow motion. Aang turns to see what has caught Katara’s attention, and his reaction is instantaneous—his shoulders slump, jaw sagging, eyes going wide. Appa’s leash slips from his grip.

Everything snaps back into motion in less than a second. Finally free from Aang’s hold, Appa bounds across the short distance, immediately jumping up on Zuko to welcome him home.

Zuko steps away from Sokka and kneels down, raising his face out of the way as Appa starts to lick at his chin. “Hey, boy,” he says quietly, patting Appa’s belly, rubbing his other hand over the shaggy fur on his head. Appa pants happily, his body wiggling in so much excitement that it’s as if he thinks Zuko’s been gone for three years and not three weeks.

With a last firm pat to Appa’s back, Zuko stands, finally meeting Aang’s gaze. “Hey, Aang.”

Aang blinks. He takes a step forward hesitantly, like if he makes any sudden movements Zuko will disappear. “You’re back?”

Zuko nods. “You were right. He really is only one man.”

Aang lets out a shaky laugh, finally crossing the short distance between them. He pulls Zuko into a hug, squeezing him so tight that Sokka can see his fingertips turning white where they’re digging into Zuko’s back. They start murmuring to each other, too quiet for Sokka to make out any of the words.

When it becomes obvious they’re not going to be breaking apart anytime soon, Katara walks around them, coming to stand next to Sokka. “You got everything sorted out?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Sokka replies with a soft smile.

Katara smiles back, her grin slowly edging towards a smirk. She hasn’t even opened her mouth, but Sokka knows exactly what she wants to say.

If he weren’t still floating in a cloud of elation—Sokka loves Zuko and Zuko _loves him back_ —Sokka figures he would feel affronted. Instead, he slings an arm around his sister’s shoulders and tugs her into his side. “You can say it if you want.”

“Say what?” Katara asks innocently.

“Are you telling me that you’re passing up this golden opportunity to tell me–”

“I told you so.”

“And there it is,” Sokka says, rolling his eyes. He pulls Katara closer, resting his head against the top of hers as they watch Aang and Zuko, who have still yet to stop hugging.

Finally, the two boys pull away from each other, sniffling slightly, eyes red rimmed and teary.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Aang says. He gestures to Zuko’s head. “I like your haircut.”

Zuko pushes a few wayward strands off his forehead. “Thanks. Azula cut it.”

Aang’s expression quickly morphs into one of horror. “Oh my god, Zuko, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Zuko says, shaking his head. “I asked her to. She, um. She came back with me.”

Aang stares. “She _what?_ ”

Zuko laughs. “I have a lot to tell you.”

“Seems like it,” Aang says. He belatedly looks over to Sokka, freezing in his tracks. “Did we interrupt something? Because Katara and I can go back outside if you–”

“No,” Zuko says. “You’re fine. Sokka and I, we’re…” He trails off as he meets Sokka’s eyes, and Sokka gives him an encouraging smile. Zuko grins back. “We’re good.”

“We’re good,” Sokka repeats.

Aang looks between the two of them, eyes narrowing. “Okay, but you said that you loved each other, right? Because I’m not going through another three months of you two dancing around your feelings and not doing anything about it.”

“Aang!” Zuko exclaims.

“Don’t worry,” Sokka replies. “We talked. We love each other. Everything is good.” Warmth spreads through Sokka’s limbs at his own statement. They _love_ each other.

Aang eyes them for a moment longer. “Are you sure?”

“Oh my god, Aang, _yes,_ ” Zuko groans, covering his growing blush with his hand.

Aang gasps dramatically, zeroing in on Zuko’s face. “Zuko! You can’t cover your face with your hair anymore!”

Zuko groans louder, raising his other hand to cover his entire face. “I regret everything,” he mumbles.

With a pat to Katara’s shoulder, Sokka lets her go, stepping over to Zuko and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Not everything, I hope?” he whispers into Zuko’s ear.

“No,” Zuko says immediately, letting his hands drop. They’re close enough that Zuko’s nose nudges Sokka’s cheek as he turns to him. “I could never regret you.”

Sokka grins into the kiss he presses to Zuko’s lips.

“You had to ask, didn’t you,” Sokka hears Katara deadpan from behind him.

“I’m happy for them,” Aang replies.

“Yeah, but now we have to deal with _this._ ” 

Sokka pulls away with a laugh, turning to see Katara gesturing towards the two of them. “Why can’t you just be happy for me, Kit Kat?”

“Ugh,” Katara says, spinning on her heel and stalking into her room. “Gross. I’m not gonna watch this. Come on, Aang.”

“I really am happy for you guys,” Aang says as he follows after Katara. The door to her room shuts very pointedly.

Sokka smiles at Zuko. Zuko smiles back.

“Why don’t you take off your coat?” Sokka asks quietly. “Stay a while.”

Zuko rocks forward, pressing a light kiss to Sokka’s lips like he just can’t help himself. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I will.”

* * *

When Sokka said stay a while, he meant it. It barely takes any convincing at all to get Zuko to sleep over, especially when after Sokka asks, Aang immediately bounces to his feet and throws his arms around both Sokka and Zuko. 

“Sleepover!” Aang exclaims, pulling them so close that their cheeks get smushed against his. 

The rest of the night consists of largely what the four of them used to do before Zuko left—they cook dinner together and then choose a movie. 

Right before they start watching, Katara levels a glare on Zuko that sends a chill even down Sokka’s spine. 

“If you hurt Sokka like that again, I’m not going to care if you’re halfway across the world. I _will_ find you. And I _will_ kill you. Got it?”

Zuko gulps, staring at Katara with wide eyes. “Got it.”

Katara smiles, the intensity in her eyes disappearing immediately, as if it were never there to begin with. “Good. I’m glad you’re back.” She turns to Aang, who’s holding the remote and looking at her with something akin to awe in his eyes. “We can start the movie now.”

Zuko stands frozen, like he doesn’t know what to do now that he knows just how willing Katara is to murder him. 

Sokka rolls his eyes, pulling Zuko right into his lap, arranging them so Zuko is sitting between his legs, his back pressed to Sokka’s chest. After a moment’s hesitation, Zuko relaxes into Sokka’s embrace.

“Don’t worry about Katara,” Sokka says. “She wouldn’t actually kill you.”

“Let’s all hope we never have to find out,” Katara says, eyes focused on the screen, waiting for Aang to press play. 

“You are absolutely incredible,” Aang says to Katara, wonder clear in his tone.

“Aang!” Zuko exclaims. “She’s threatening to murder me!”

“I bet she could do it, too,” Aang replies dreamily. “She’s that powerful.”

“Dude.”

Aang shrugs, giving Zuko a wide grin, then finally starts the movie.

Sokka lends Zuko clothes to sleep in once the movie ends, their limbs heavy, eyelids drooping. They change quickly, and as soon as they’re both under the covers, Sokka pulls Zuko close. He wraps his arms around Zuko’s back, Zuko’s breath warm against his neck. Their legs are so intertwined that he’s not quite sure where he begins and where Zuko ends. 

It’s almost concerning how familiar it feels to hold Zuko like this, how easily the two of them fit together—Sokka can’t fathom how he was able to fall asleep without Zuko beside him for all those weeks, because now, he falls asleep instantly.

When Sokka wakes up a few hours later, his room is still dark, the space beside him empty. For a moment, Sokka’s heart sinks. Had he dreamt up the entire afternoon? Was Zuko showing up at his door to explain himself just a figment of his wishful imagination? But then his gaze snags on the neat stack of Zuko’s clothes folded on top of his dresser, and when Sokka reaches out to press a hand to the sheets beside him, they’re still warm. 

With a confused, sleepy look directed at his slightly open door, Sokka throws off the covers and pads into the living room. The floorboards are cold on his feet, but the sensation seems to fade away as he sees Zuko sitting on the counter in the kitchen, facing away from him. The sweatpants that he’s borrowed are ever so slightly too long for him; the worn cuffs fall over his heels as they gently bump against the cupboards. 

“You know,” Sokka begins. Zuko startles, looking over to where Sokka is leaning on the wall behind him. “One of these days I’ll wake up with you beside me and I’ll be so overwhelmed that I’ll have a heart attack or something.”

The moonlight shining through the window is bright enough for Sokka to catch the edge of Zuko’s wince. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Wake me up next time,” Sokka says easily. “I’ll try to help.”

Zuko watches Sokka for a long time after that, his expression unreadable. He shakes his head, frowning as he looks away. “What did I do to deserve you?” he asks quietly, almost to himself.

“Something terrible, probably,” Sokka replies, but it only makes Zuko shake his head again, forcefully this time. He raises a hand to his face and sniffs slightly, and that’s enough for Sokka to push himself off the wall, making his way closer to Zuko. “Hey, are you okay?”

Zuko doesn’t say anything right away, staying silent as Sokka rounds the corner to stand in front of him. At this angle, his face turned down and away, his features are completely in shadow. 

“Talk to me,” Sokka says.

“I just—It’s–” Zuko sighs shakily, voice thick. “I left. I hurt you, but you still forgave me. So now everything is good? It doesn’t feel real. I guess I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” When Zuko looks up, his eyes are bleak, resigned. 

“Hey,” Sokka says softly, taking a step forward. He aches to slot himself between Zuko’s knees, take Zuko’s hands in his own, and hold him close, as if he could absorb all of Zuko’s fears and worries through sheer force alone. Sokka stays close but doesn’t touch—he doesn’t know if that’s what Zuko needs right now. “Is this about what Katara said? Because she won’t actually do anything. Zuko, there is no other shoe. Nothing bad is going to happen. It’s all real.”

“But–”

“No buts.”

Zuko looks away, then back, his eyes reflecting the pale light filtering into the room. “Why aren’t you angry?”

“Why would I be angry? You’re here.”

“Yeah, but—I left.”

“You left because your father told you to. Yeah, you could’ve texted or called and given me an explanation. And I could’ve left an actual voicemail with words in it,” Sokka says with a laugh. “But we didn’t do that. Sure, it caused a lot of unnecessary hurt—on both our parts. But then you came back. You explained, and you apologized, and now you’re here. You’re staying.” Sokka steps forward ever so slightly, but still doesn’t touch. “Why would I be angry about that?”

“Because–” Zuko starts, then stops. He huffs out a small laugh, a short breath of sound. “You’re making it hard to argue with you.”

“That’s the point, sweetheart.”

The corner of Zuko’s lips quirk up, along with one eyebrow. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m trying it out. Do you like it?”

Zuko looks away. “Maybe.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a maybe.”

Sokka grins at Zuko until Zuko gives in and looks back. He likes to think that Zuko’s blushing, but in the darkness, he can’t quite tell. Sokka’s fingers twitch, wanting to feel the warmth of Zuko’s cheek to know for sure. 

Zuko blinks slowly, shifting back on the counter before he holds out a hand. “C’mere.”

Sokka doesn’t hesitate—he fits himself between Zuko’s knees just as easily as he had all those weeks ago. He wraps his arms around Zuko’s waist as Zuko’s hand runs up the length of his arm, tilting their foreheads together, fingers gently curling around the back of Sokka’s neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko whispers. “So sorry. For everything.”

“I know,” Sokka replies just as quietly. “And I forgive you. It’s okay.”

Zuko pulls in a breath, but Sokka cuts him off.

“Zuko. Seriously. It’s okay. You’re here with me, and that’s all that matters.”

Sokka can feel Zuko’s shaky exhale across his cheek. “I want to believe you.”

“So believe me.”

The exhale morphs into a laugh, and then Zuko pulls back so he can look Sokka in the eye. They share a few silent breaths before Zuko says softly, “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

For a moment, Sokka can only stare. Here’s Zuko, sitting on his counter in a pair of Sokka’s old sweatpants and a black t-shirt, eyes bright and so unbelievably sincere, and he’s telling Sokka that Sokka is the best thing to ever happen to him. Sokka can’t help but lean in to kiss him. 

Zuko kisses him back sweetly, easily, as if he hasn’t only done this a handful of times, as if he’s been kissing Sokka his entire life. As Sokka kisses Zuko, he finds himself hoping that Zuko _will_ kiss him for the rest of his life, because Sokka’s not letting him go, not ever. 

Sokka pulls back, barely a breath away. “I love you,” he says, and revels in the way Zuko’s eyes widen for a split second before softening, a small smile growing on his face. 

“I love you, too,” Zuko replies, nudging Sokka’s calf with his foot. 

With a coy grin, Sokka asks, “Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?”

Sokka is sure that if Zuko still had his long hair, he’d be hiding behind it right now. “If you want,” he says quietly.

“I really want to be your boyfriend,” Sokka says. “Do you want to be mine?”

Zuko’s smile grows. “Yeah. I do.”

Sokka can’t help the way he leans in to press a quick kiss to Zuko’s lips. “I think this is a cause for celebration.”

Zuko looks at Sokka with narrowed eyes, probably wondering what he’s planning. “And how do you suggest we celebrate?”

Sokka grins. “I think we should dance.”

Zuko laughs. “Absolutely not.”

“Is it because we don’t have music? Because that can be rectified.” Sokka steps away from Zuko before he can start to protest, ducking back into his bedroom to grab his phone. 

“It’s the middle of the night, Sokka,” Zuko hisses once he sees the phone in his hand. 

Sokka flaps a hand in dismissal. “Katara sleeps like the dead.”

“Aang doesn’t.”

“I’ll have it on a low volume, it’s fine,” Sokka says, and then the familiar lyrics of Good as Hell filter into the room. 

He starts dancing right there in the middle of the kitchen, just like he had done in Zuko’s apartment all those months ago. Zuko looks at Sokka with a single raised eyebrow. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Sokka says. “Dance with me.”

“Uh, no.”

“I know you want to.”

“I really don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“ _Sokka_.”

Sokka stills, turning to Zuko slowly and deliberately. He does a flourish with his hand as he bows dramatically, then looks up at Zuko with a sly smirk. “May I have this dance?”

Sokka expects Zuko to protest again, or turn him down. Instead, Zuko watches him for a moment with soft, knowing eyes. Finally, he says, “This is hardly the right music.”

“Oh?” Sokka straightens. “What’s the right music, then?”

Zuko gestures for Sokka to hand over his phone, which Sokka does. He waits patiently for Zuko to choose a song, then tries to parse out which one it is as the slow piano and string instruments gently filter through the tinny speaker. 

He looks at Zuko quizzically, but Zuko only smiles back as the first lyrics finally come through. 

“Sam Smith?” Sokka asks as he finally recognizes the song. “You sap.”

“It’s a good song,” Zuko protests.

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Sokka says, then holds out a hand towards Zuko. Finally, Zuko puts his hand into Sokka’s and lets Sokka pull him off the counter, right into his waiting arms. 

They intertwine easily, Sokka’s arms circling Zuko’s waist while Zuko links his fingers together loosely at the base of Sokka’s neck. Sokka spins them around the kitchen smoothly, slowly, and they sway side to side as Sam Smith croons in the background. 

Sokka finds himself clutching Zuko instinctively closer at the start of the chorus, when the lyrics _now I’ve got you in my space, I won’t let go of you_ ring through the room. He doesn’t think he imagines the way Zuko’s arms around his neck squeeze a little tighter, or the way Zuko’s chest presses ever so slightly closer to his. 

Sokka’s pretty sure that Zuko set the song to repeat, because it seems like they stay like that for hours, gently swaying throughout the dark kitchen. 

They hold each other and they dance, completely wrapped up in each other, unwilling to let each other go. They stay there, barely even swaying anymore, but still holding on. 

Sokka’s not going to let Zuko go, not ever. Especially not now that he’s here in Sokka’s arms, holding Sokka just as tight as Sokka’s holding Zuko, like Sokka will disappear if he lets go. 

Moonlight streams through the window, long panes of pale light stretching across the floor, stars twinkling in that midnight sky high above them. They dance in and out of the shadows, and they hold each other, and they stay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this story, gave kudos, or left a comment. The love I've gotten from this story continues to astound me, and I want you all to know that I appreciate you so so much. Thank you. ❤️
> 
> There’s a [graphic](https://zukkababey.tumblr.com/post/637054722834055168/that-midnight-sky) on tumblr you can reblog if you enjoyed!
> 
> I have a lot of ideas for this verse, so if you want to keep up to date with me and potential other works, or if you just love zukka as much as I do, you can follow me on tumblr [@zukkababey](https://zukkababey.tumblr.com/)! 😊

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [That Midnight Sky: Between The Lines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668878) by [AdrianBlack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrianBlack/pseuds/AdrianBlack)
  * [That Midnight Sky: Shear Freedom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321796) by [AdrianBlack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrianBlack/pseuds/AdrianBlack)




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